


Office Romance

by starlight_searches



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Jealousy, Love Triangles, Mutual Pining, POV Second Person, POV Third Person, Pining, Pre-TFA, Sharing a Bed, Slow Burn, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-02
Updated: 2020-09-19
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:33:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 62,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22087960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starlight_searches/pseuds/starlight_searches
Summary: General Hux and Kylo Ren have found themselves competing for the affection of a lieutenant aboard the Finalizer.
Relationships: Armitage Hux & You, Armitage Hux/Reader, Armitage Hux/You, Kylo Ren & You, Kylo Ren/Reader, Kylo Ren/You
Comments: 192
Kudos: 717





	1. Sparring Practice

**Author's Note:**

> Because I know it’s not clear yet in the story, I wanted to mention three things. First, this story takes place before the events of TFA, during the construction of Star Killer Base. Also, the reader character is not a Storm Trooper, and never was. She was an officer on the base who was promoted to work under Phasma. Lastly, I am not super knowledgeable about the Star Wars universe, so if there’s something that exists in our world and also in the Star Wars universe, I’m just going to use the human word for it 😂

Despite your status as a high-ranking official in the First Order, receiving a visit from the Master of the Knights of Ren was incredibly unusual, and generally cause for alarm. So when he marched into your office without knocking and stood before your desk, you couldn’t help but be worried. “Good Evening, Commander Ren,” you said, standing out of respect and trying to keep your voice calm, despite the sense of dread that always followed Ren into a room. He made no reply, so you spoke again, asking, “Is there something that you need?”

“You are skilled in hand to hand combat,” he stated, his voice coming low and deep through the voice synthesizer on his mask. Since joining the First Order, you had made a reputation for yourself as you repeatedly beat many of the other officers in sparring matches, including an intense and now infamous match with General Hux, who, despite appearances, was a skilled and cunning fighter. Phasma was particularly impressed by your skill, and you now assisted her in training the many Storm Troopers under her command. Apparently Phasma and Hux were not the only important members of the Order who knew of your abilities, and now Kylo Ren was interested as well. “Yes, sir,” you replied to his statement, “hand to hand combat is my specialty.”

“And what experience do you have with weapons training?” he asked. “Depends on the weapon in question,” you said, “ I work regularly with blasters, obviously, while training with the Storm Troopers, and I have some experience fighting with a staff and a few other weapons.” He made no immediate reply, and the two stood across from each other, as you waited for him to speak. It was strange to see him this way, so calm and collected, head tilted slightly to the left, almost thoughtful. Normally you saw him on the offensive, arguing with the general, intimidating prisoners, or ripping through the walls of the _Finalizer_ with his lightsaber. After what felt like an eternity under the inquisitive gaze of the mask, he said, “meet me tomorrow morning in the training facilities at 0500 hours for sparring practice,” and left before you could manage to respond.

You woke to your alarm the next morning with an immediate sense of dread in the pit of your stomach. All night you had tossed and turned, worried about the training session the next day. Your sleep was both restless and dreamless, but you swear you could remember waking up in the middle of the night to the smell of burned flesh and the feeling of a lightsaber carving into your skin. You hadn’t had much of a history working with Kylo Ren, but his reputation preceded him, and you knew all about his temper and lethal abilities from listening to Hux complain about the damage he had inflicted both on and off the ship. Sighing, you got out of bed and began to get ready. You weren’t entirely sure what to expect, so you decided to dress how you normally would for a training session, in a dark pair of leggings and loose-fitting tank top, so that you could have a free range of motion. You swept your hair back to keep it out of your face, and then made your way to the officer’s training facilities.

You were a bit early, and Ren had not arrived yet, so you began warming up on your own. There were a few other people in the room, either lifting weights or sparring. You were in the middle of stretching on one of the sparring mats when you heard the door open behind you, and you looked up to see Kylo Ren enter in all of his imposing glory. Everyone else in the room had stopped what they were doing as well, all unsure of what Ren might want.

“Everyone out,” he said, and you watched as the other officers quickly gathered their belongings and left the room, trying to avoid the gaze of Kylo Ren. The door shut as the last person left, and you and Ren were alone. Without speaking, he removed the helmet from off his head, and the cape from off his shoulders. You weren’t exactly _surprised_ by his appearance; you already knew that he was a few years younger than the general, something Hux had mentioned to you once when he went off on one of his tirades. You were, however, surprised by his eyes, which were not what you had expected at all. Dark brown, almost kind and shockingly _human_. He seemed to be taking in your appearance as well, running his eyes over your frame, in an almost curious manner. You were used to men in positions of power questioning your capabilities; it came with the territory of being a woman in a combat role. But it seemed that Ren was sizing you up without judgement. He saw you as a worthy opponent, that much was certain, or at least the closest thing he could find to one. He approached you, after gathering two practice sabers that he had brought with him, his steps almost hesitant, and you realized that this was the most unsure, the most _vulnerable_ , you had ever seen him. _Which isn’t saying much_ , you thought to yourself. He still looked threatening.

“Lieutenant,” he said in greeting, tossing you a practice saber. You caught it easily from the air, grabbing at the hilt. The weight of it in your hands was not what you expected; the hilt was much heavier than the blade, and you swung it through the air a few times in an attempt to adjust yourself to the weapon. Ren came to stand by you, watching as moved the sword through the air. He cleared his throat before speaking, “are you familiar with this type of weapon?” You shook your head in response, holding the saber still in your hands. 

“I’ve never fought with a saber before, but I know quite a bit about staff fighting and I would guess that at least some of the principles are the same,” you responded. Ren nodded in agreement, and you noticed how different it was to be around him when he didn’t have the mask on, almost comfortable. You listened intently as he explained how best to grip the hilt, the basics of stance, and methods for attack and defense. Once he was done explaining the basics, the two of you began sparring.

If you had thought Ren would go easy on you because of your lack of experience, you were soon proven wrong. Sparring with him was intense and exhausting, and although you weren’t using real weapons, each hit from his practice saber was powerful, and you could feel the bruises blooming beneath your skin from some of his sharper attacks. Despite the grueling workout you were getting, he seemed to gain more energy as time went on, growing more and more sure of himself. It looked like he was incredibly proud of himself, as well, and you could have sworn you saw him smile after each victory. The overall effect was aggravating, but at the same time, oddly charming, and you found yourself trying not to blush anytime he corrected your posture or complimented you on performing a particularly difficult move.

You had decided to take a break for a moment, drinking deeply from your water bottle and stretching your aching shoulder muscles. You and Ren were about to start sparring again when you glanced at the clock on the wall. You cursed when you realized the time, and started to grab your belongings. “I almost forgot, I have a meeting with Captain Phasma right now and I’m already late,” you explained as you moved towards the door, stumbling a little when Ren grabbed your arm and pulled you towards him. There was a little more momentum than he had expected, so you ended up standing directly in front of him, close enough that you could feel the heat radiating from his body; see the freckles dotting his cheeks. _Close enough to kiss him_ , you thought to yourself and you could feel the blush bloom on your cheeks. He took a step back from you, the faintest trace of a blush spreading across his face as well, and he tried to regain his composure. “I can explain your tardiness to Captain Phasma, stay for one more match,” he told you, and you were compelled to comply. “I don’t know if I can handle losing again,” you said, in a tone that was maybe a bit too friendly, grabbing your weapon. “Who knows,” Ren replied with a lightness to his voice you could never have heard through the modulator, as you both took your positions, “maybe this time you’ll get lucky.”

It was obvious from the beginning of the match that you had improved from your first fight, and now more than ever you were determined to win. While Ren’s guidance had helped strengthen your fighting style, you knew you would need a new strategy in order to beat him. His technique was excellent, but there were still small flaws that you began to focus on. Ren was used to fighting at arm's length, relying on his reach to keep his opponents at a distance, and any time you moved into his personal space he would falter. You decided to use this knowledge to your advantage, and the second you found an opportunity you moved in, stopping the movement of his saber from coming down on top of you by grabbing his wrist, with enough momentum from the swing of your own blade to hit him in the side before he could try to block the attack.

“I win,” you whispered, out of breath. Your faces were barely an inch apart, and you could feel the hot grip of his hand at your waist. His breath was warm and heavy, and you could swear you saw him glance down at your lips. The moment, whatever it was, ended quickly, however, as the door opened with a loud swish, and the two of you were shocked out of your reverie by the unexpected visitor.

It was General Hux, and he looked furious.


	2. Seeing Red

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been writing a bit faster than I had initially anticipated, so here's the next chapter! Let me know what you think, please! I love reading your comments :D

General Hux liked to believe that he was a reasonable man. He had worked tirelessly to gain the status he currently held, and he let nothing get in the way of his rise to the top. He saw greatness in himself, and felt that no one could take it away from him. Which is why it vexed him so that he would put all his tireless effort, his destiny even, at risk for a ridiculous, unrealistic, childish _crush_. And on a subordinate, no less. 

He could not deny, though, that even as a subordinate, you were worthy of the admiration he felt for you. An incredibly vicious fighter, an intelligent and cunning strategist, and a loyal and competent soldier; all qualities that had been listed on your recommendation for your promotion by Captain Phasma. But if he was honest with himself, his admiration for you did not stem from the fact that you were an impressive soldier, although it was what first drew his attention. In fact, it is possible that he could have ignored your presence aboard the ship, even after your now-notorious brawl, if you hadn’t been so unfailingly kind to him, despite his less-than agreeable behavior. Bringing him coffee in the early mornings when you were stationed on the bridge, or meals to his office in the evenings when you hadn’t seen him in the mess hall, greeting him in the hallways, and putting in extra hours to help him complete all the inane tasks that came with being in charge. You were helpful, intelligent, funny, kind, brave and despite his accomplishments, he wasn’t sure if someone like you could ever _want_ someone like him. He tried to get the ridiculous notion out of his head, tried to convince himself that he only admired your work ethic and that his ridiculous infatuation would fade in time. All the while wondering, in the dark, secret parts of his heart, if there wasn’t anything he could do that would grant him just a fractional amount of more time in your presence—a chance to prove himself worthy.

Lucky for him, Phasma had requested your promotion, which created a viable excuse for him to seek you out on so many occasions. Subtlety was a gift he had in spades, and it became increasingly easy for him to sneak bits of your time under the guise of professional business. It was not uncommon for you to find the general in your office, or near you on the bridge or the mess hall, asking you an important question about recruiting, or training protocols, or injury reports, and then ever so slightly shift the conversation towards the casual, the personal. Or on bad days, when he wasn’t feeling particularly subtle, he would rant about Kylo Ren, which at the very least if you didn’t find it interesting, you seemed to find amusing.

The only person who knew about his shameful little obsession was Captain Phasma. She had figured him out early on, and took an unseemly amount of relish in the fact that he was, by all accounts, _smitten_. And while it had been imperceptible to many others, including yourself, the captain found the changes that Hux underwent when in your presence fairly obvious and incredibly funny. He would wait around wherever you were, and then act so strange when you addressed him, standing so stiff and awkward that a swift kick would be all it took to put him on the floor. He was better now, Phasma conceded, almost acting like a human, but in terms of developing a close personal relationship . . . he had a long way to go.

And here Hux was again, in the captain’s office, lingering. “Isn’t the lieutenant supposed to in soon?” he asked, attempting an air of nonchalance. Phasma rolled her eyes; she was surprised he still chose to pretend when it was only her around, but refrained from teasing him.

“Not for a little while. She mentioned something about a training session yesterday.” The general didn’t respond to this verbally, he simply nodded, looking at the data pad in his hands as if he was reading something mildly interesting. Phasma rolled her eyes again, seeing that he wasn’t going to leave on his own. “Would you mind checking in the training room for her, and sending her here?” she asked, and watched as the corners of his mouth turned up into a stifled smile. “Of course,” he said, and then, catching himself, “since it’s on the way to the bridge.” Phasma snorted in response, but the general was already on the way out the door. 

In the hallway, General Hux put on an air of confidence, but on the inside he could already feel the fluttering in his stomach. He tried to walk swiftly, but not _too_ swiftly, towards the training room, thinking about what he might say to you.

_“Excuse me, Lieutenant, I’m sorry to interrupt, but you’re needed in the captain’s office.”_

_. . . No, that sounds weak. What about “Lieutenant, you’re needed.” That could give me a chance to talk to her without others listening. And maybe I could even walk her down to the captain's office. But what if she needs to run back to her quarters first? She’d know I was going out of my way . . ._

Hux’s train of thought was interrupted as he felt himself collide with someone, and the data pad in his hands slipped out of his grasp. “I’m so sorry, General!” 

_Ugh, Mitaka_. Hux straightened himself to his full height, as the lieutenant grabbed both dropped data pads off the ground. “It’s alright, Lieutenant, excuse me,” he said, taking his data pad from Mitaka’s shaking hands, already moving again. But then Mitaka was following him, his quick footsteps echoing down the hallway. “I’m sorry sir, but while I have you here, it will only take a moment . . .” Hux stopped to listen, but he couldn’t focus on the inanities coming Mitaka’s mouth. He needed to go before you were out of the training room.

“That’s fine, Lieutenant,” Hux said, cutting Mitaka off, “we can discuss this more later, if you’ll excuse me.” The general continued on his way, not waiting for a response from Mitaka. 

It was strange seeing him, now that Hux thought about it. He had assumed, initially, that Mitaka would be the one in the training room with you. The two of you were very close friends, which annoyed Hux to no end, and Mitaka’s hand-to-hand combat skills were miserable. Hux had spent more than a few mornings watching the two of you spar, trying with much difficulty to ignore the feelings of jealousy rising in him as you and Mitaka practiced various methods of blocking, feinting, and striking. Your hand on Mitaka’s bicep, gently guiding his arm into the correct position, the strong movement of your shoulder muscles as you demonstrated a new move, the sheen of sweat on your collarbone as you blocked Mitaka’s various punches . . .

If it wasn’t Mitaka sparring with you, then who? It could be a Storm Trooper in need of more training, but wouldn’t Phasma had mentioned that? 

Hux was still puzzling over the question when he reached the training room doors. He walked up, waiting for the traditional _swish_ of the door to open, but it didn’t come. _Strange_ , he thought to himself as he punched in his access code on the panel next to the door. If the door didn’t open automatically, then the room must have been reserved for a private training session. As the general, Hux had an override code for any locked door on the ship, but that didn’t change the fact that most of the ships’ personnel had no reason to request a private training session with you.

 _Who in the stars could it be?_ the general asked himself, as a brief sliver of panic slipped up his spine. He didn’t need to wait any longer to find out though, as he pressed the last digit on the keypad and the doors slid open.

 _No._ It was worse than he could have imagined. The sight of you in Ren’s arms, his hand at your waist, the look on your face as you stared into Ren’s eyes . . .

He couldn’t help it. He was seeing red.

At the sight of the general in the doorway, you jumped from Ren’s arms, a strange, guilty feeling settling in your stomach. Not the ideal situation to be caught in by your commanding officer, but you hadn’t been doing anything wrong, necessarily. The moment had been charged, for sure—charged with what, exactly, you didn’t know—but maybe the general hadn’t noticed. You straightened up, taking another step away from Ren, just to be safe. “Hello General, do you need something?” you asked, taking notice as Hux schooled his enraged expression into one of cool indifference. _That's interesting_ , you thought to yourself. It was no secret to anyone aboard the the _Finalizer_ that the two men hated each other, but it normally the general’s anger was caused by Ren’s reckless behavior. What could Ren have done this early in the morning to to cause Hux to feel such rage? And why would he bother to hide it now?

“Pardon the interruption, Lieutenant, but you’re needed.” Hux said, completely ignoring Ren’s presence. You ran to grab your things, scrambling to assemble your bag. As you headed to the door, though, you felt Ren’s hand grip your wrist. “Thank you for your assistance today, Lieutenant,” he said, his voice low and soft. He didn’t remove his hand from your wrist, and it was warm and slick with sweat. The personal contact was foreign to be sure, but not entirely unpleasant. “We’ll meet on a regular basis for future sparring sessions,” the demand was punctuated with a glance towards the general, who was still standing in the doorway—a quick glance, but not outside of your notice.

“Of course, Commander Ren. It would be an honor,” you responded. That Ren wanted to train with you regularly was a bit of a surprise, but you would have to process it later. General Hux was still waiting.

Outside of the training room, Hux was looking for an outlet for his anger. You walked out into the corridor, a flush still visible on your face from your recent workout. _Or from something else,_ the thought cut into his mind cruelly, and Hux felt his jaw tense in frustration. “I’m really sorry about that,” you said, gesturing to the now-closed doors of the training room, “I didn’t realize how late it was. Was there something you needed?”

Hux could feel his anger diminishing as he looked into your eyes. There was an earnest quality in your gaze that he had always admired, and when you were looking at him, he felt like the most powerful, most important person in the galaxy. But Ren’s presence in the training room, and whatever it was he had walked in on, still vexed him. Maybe you looked at everyone like that.

“Phasma asked me to remind you of your meeting.”

“Of course, sir, I’ll head there immediately,” you responded, but you made no movement towards the captain’s office.

“Was there something _you_ needed, Lieutenant?”

“No sir,” you responded, eyes wide, “I only wondered, well, are you alright? You seem . . . tense.” You glanced away on the last word, avoiding eye contact, and Hux melted. It was not everyday that one of his subordinates showed concern for his well-being, and your concern meant the most to him.

“I’m fine, Lieutenant, but thank you.” Hux responded, as a small bubble of elation moved through his chest, stamping out more of the anger on its way. 

“Because if you need help with anything, I’m always glad to offer my assistance.”

“Really, Lieutenant, I’m alright.” Hux reached out to lay his hand on your shoulder, but then thought better of it, pulling his hand back awkwardly to his side, “You should go to your meeting; Captain Phasma will be wondering where you are.”

You nodded in response, and then began walking down the corridor towards Phasma’s office when a stroke of bravery hit the general.

“Wait, Lieutenant!” he called, walking to catch up with you. “ I actually could use your help. The expense reports for the cycle are due tonight at midnight, and I have to wait as long as possible before I approve and submit them so that they accurately reflect our spending. It takes me a few hours on my own, but maybe with your help . . .” 

“Of course, General, I’d love to,” you responded, smiling. “Would you like to meet me in your office tonight or . . .“

“My quarters might be more comfortable,” Hux interrupted, before he could stop himself.

 _Idiot!_ _Moron! You sound like a lowlife!_ he scolded internally. Now you’d think of him as some pervert trying to corner you in his damn quarters. Hux paused his mental self-flagellation in an attempt to salvage the conversation. “If that’s alright with you. Whatever you prefer.” 

“Your quarters would be fine, sir,” you said, and Hux felt himself go weak at the knees with relief. “I’ll be there at 21 hundred hours?” The general could only nod, still recovering from his terrible embarrassment. You hurried off down the hallway, on your way to meet with Phasma, and Hux was already beginning to feel the nervous anticipation that always came when he thought about getting to see you again. He’d just have to make it through the next few hours.

There was no way he’d be getting any work done today.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it for this one. Thanks for the support everybody! If I keep writing as quickly as I have been, updates will probably come once a week instead of twice.


	3. Confrontation Pt. 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's some minor (like super minor) sexual content at the beginning of this one (in italics) so skip that if it's something you're sensitive to!

_The only sound Hux could hear was your heavy breathing in his ear as his hands slid up your waist, slipping gently underneath the fabric of your shirt. His hungry mouth was at your neck, leaving a line of sloppy kisses from your jaw down to your collarbone. He paused there, listening to the rapid sound of your heart beating, before returning his mouth to yours, savoring each detail: the feeling of your lips on his, almost as insatiable as he was, the sensation of your skin under his fingertips, your hands running through his hair, your bodies pressed together, like your lives depended on it, like you’d never be close enough-_

Damnit. The scene in Hux’s head was interrupted by a sharp pain at the base of his skull. His hand reflexively moved to the back of his neck, and his eyes closed, the pain becoming more powerful for a moment before disappearing completely, along with what was left of his lovely daydream.

“Get out of my head, Ren,” Hux commanded, his eyes still closed. Despite what others might assume, it was the moments after Ren had rummaged through your thoughts that were truly the most painful. Everything was amplified: any light became blinding, any present pain sharper, and a distinct and overwhelming feeling of loss clouded Hux’s mind. The overall effect was often debilitating for most people who came under Ren’s scrutiny, but Hux was not like most people.

“Not exactly an appropriate train of thought for the workplace, General,” Ren said in response, his voice coming from behind Hux. The voice modulator did an excellent job of masking Ren’s emotions usually, but the general sensed a simmering anger there now, just below the surface, despite his even tone.

Hux opened his eyes, taking a moment to adjust briefly to the sight of the control room, before turning to face Ren. “That’s none of your business,” Hux snapped, walking towards the back of the bridge, away from where you had been stationed. It was your presence in the control room, and the anticipation for your plans that evening, which had initially inspired Hux to _that_ particular daydream. And now that Ren had seen it, he had to be careful, had to keep him far away from you. Ren followed closely behind as Hux walked away. Apparently this was not a conversation he could avoid. Hux stopped again, a safe distance from you and the other officers on the bridge, where he and Ren would not be overheard.

“What do you want, Ren?” Hux asked, his own rage and embarrassment thinly veiled behind his words. 

“I’d like to know what your intentions are with the girl,” Ren replied, and then added, “the lieutenant.” The clarification was not necessary. Hux felt ice-cold dread flood into his body at the mention of you, and, for a moment, he was frozen. Ren laughed, sensing Hux’s fear.

“On second thought, I believe I understand your intentions perfectly, based on that little _fantasy_ of yours. What I have for you is an order: stay away from her.” Ren was obviously in his element, as he loomed over Hux, attempting to intimidate him into submission. Hux had seen countless others cower beneath Ren’s might: Resistance fighters, enemy spies, even crewmembers on the _Finalizer_ , but the general did not plan to let Ren bully him to surrender. He planned to fight. 

“And what will you do if I don’t, Ren?” Hux asked in response, taking on an air of cold and vicious confidence. “Kill me?” It was obvious that Ren would like to do nothing more, but Hux had the upper hand now. “She would hate you,” he sneered, “she would _despise_ you. The very thought of you would repel her, more than it probably does now.” Ren made no reply, standing still as a statue, but Hux always had been very good at knowing when to deliver the killing blow.

“You really believe that someone like her could ever feel anything like love for someone like you? Pathetic.” Hux walked away then, satisfied in the knowledge that he had won. He knew exactly how devastating those words could be, as he had thought them to himself on more than one occasion. And while they had always hurt him, he had to admit that using them against Ren felt wonderful. Back in his rightful place at the head of the bridge, Hux stood a little taller. If it was a war Ren wanted, he would be happy to oblige.  
  


If Ren was being honest with himself, something he normally avoided at all costs, he would have to admit that his conversation with the general did not go according to plan. He wouldn’t call it a _setback_ , exactly—that would be giving Hux too much credit—but it was certainly not ideal. No matter, though. Hux would give in, just like everyone else did when faced by Ren. Or at least, that’s what Ren hoped.

You had first drawn Ren’s attention not long after you joined the crew of the _Finalizer._ It was an early morning, in the Officer’s private dining area by the mess hall. Ren never ate in front of the officers, and rarely even took off his helmet, but the morning meals were normally the most interesting, and Ren liked to listen to the conversations between those in attendance, picking up bits of information that would normally not be available to him without the threat of violence. His presence in the dining area also annoyed the general, which made it all the more worth it.

On this particular morning, the dining area was fairly empty. You and Mitaka were the newest recruits to the _Finalizer’s_ cast of officers, fresh from your Academy graduation, and were seated at the table eating in silence. Ren could feel your exhaustion clouding your mind. Sensing strong emotions came naturally to him, through the force, and he had become so used to it he hardly noticed most of the time.

 _And how does she feel about the other lieutenant?_ Ren wondered to himself. Lately, he had been finding a great deal of entertainment in deciphering relationships between others through his connection to the force, and it had come in very handily in interrogations. He searched your surface of your thoughts—so shallow that his presence in your mind would not be noticed. _She’s fond of him, like a brother to her, but worries about his safety too often._ Ren filed this information away for a later date.

The _Finalizer_ crew only had about thirty ranked officers aboard, and they rarely ate meals at the same time, which meant that there was plenty of seating in the dining area with only a large dining table. You sat towards the head of the mostly unoccupied table, near the general and the captain, drinking your coffee in long, slow sips and ignoring your breakfast. 

Ren listened without much interest as one of the other officers, a maintenance supervisor based on the uniform, interrogated you and Mitaka about the inane details of your lives. Hometowns, who your parents were (few people got into the Officer’s Academy without connections, most graduates had high ranking officials for parents), your specialties and interests.

“And what did you do before attending the Academy?” the officer asked, with too much enthusiasm for the early hour.

“I was a dancer,” you responded, stifling a yawn, “classically-trained.” _How unique_ , Ren thought to himself, absentmindedly. All Academy students were rigorously vetted for high academic ability before being accepted, which meant that most hopefuls were educated privately or attending elite primary schools from a very young age. It would have taken a miracle to get someone with no formal education into the Academy. Ren should have paid closer attention to who you said your parents were.

Apparently the general thought this was strange too, as you, Mitaka, and the other officer were interrupted by the sound of a derisive snort from that side of the table.

“Something funny, General?” you turned to ask. Your tone was polite, casual, but Ren could sense a burning anger spark to life below the surface. A few more officers had straggled into the room, and sensing the tension, all had turned their eyes to you and the general now.

“No, Lieutenant. It’s just, I’ve never heard of someone with a . . . dancer’s background, make it into the Academy before. Classically trained, you said?” Hux’s voice was dripping with condescension, and despite his lack of interest before, Ren found himself rooting for you now.

“Even with a dancer’s background, I could still kick your ass,” you responded on reflex, and the whole room went silent, but Ren was ecstatic. It was obvious that this was not the first time that you had been tasked with defending yourself verbally, and you seemed more than capable. Your hands flew to your mouth in shock, though, when you realized who you had been talking to, and what you had said. 

“I am so sorry, sir,” you stammered, clearly panicking, “I didn’t mean that at all.” Hux was frozen, for the moment, unsure of how to respond to the disrespect he had just received. Ren, on the other hand, was completely giddy at this turn of events.

Phasma cut in, then, trying to release some of the tension in the room. “That’s ridiculous,” she said, “the general had a near perfect sparring record at the Academy. His combat skills are excellent.”

“Absolutely, it was my mistake,” you responded, shooting Phasma a grateful look, “I guess I just forgot I’m not at the Academy anymore.” Hux said nothing, but seemed satisfied with your apology, and Ren could feel you relax as you sunk into your chair.

“Actually, Captain, forgive me,” Mitaka said, addressing Phasma, “but I believe that my friend _also_ had a near perfect sparring record while we were in school, didn’t you?” Mitaka looked to you for conformation, and regretted it instantly, as the look you gave him back could have killed him on the spot. 

“What was your final tally?” Hux cut in, both anger and curiosity clouding around him.

“My final total was 463 wins, 3 losses, but-” whatever you planned on saying in your defense fell on deaf ears as the other officers began to murmur to each other in surprise. _463 wins!_ Now that was unique, and only 3 losses in your six years of training. Maybe Ren had underestimated you; maybe all of them had.

“It doesn’t matter what your Academy record looks like,” one of the officers said in a loud voice. Ren didn’t know all of the officer’s names, but he immediately recognized this one. It was Major Allecull Lindeas, raging asshole and professional bootlicker. “The general has had years of experience more than you. Your classmates at the Academy couldn’t even come close in comparison to the general of the First Order.”

“I agree,” you said, annoyed, “It was a stupid thing for me to say, and I apologized, so we should probably just let it go.”

“I say we put it to a vote,” Allecull continued, ignoring you, parading around the dining area, “who thinks that the general could beat her in hand-to-hand combat?”

Around the room, the other officers sheepishly raised their hands in the air, caught in the awkward position between embarrassing you and angering the general. Hux abstained from voting, but his smug attitude sat clearly visible on his shoulders.

“And who thinks _she_ would win,” Allecull asked, pointing at you with dramatic flourish. Mitaka dutifully raised his hand in the air, but he was the only one. You sat with your arms folded, your piercing gaze never leaving Major Lindeas.

“Great, are you happy now?” you asked, cleaning up your uneaten breakfast and heading to the waste disposal. You dumped your tray with more force than necessary, and sat back down at the table, but the major wasn’t done kissing the general’s ass. 

“Master Ren, you didn’t vote. Do you have any input on the situation?” he asked with mock sincerity. Ren rolled his eyes, the move invisible behind his helmet. He stood, walking over to Allecull, relishing in the waves of fear rolling off of him as Ren moved closer.

“I’d be glad to settle this, finally,” Ren responded, and he jumped into your mind without warning. Images from your life flashed before his eyes, as he used the force to read your thoughts. _You, as a_ _child, in tears, looking in a mirror as someone cut your hair, a sprawling farmland washed in early sunlight, a box of tools, and a man, your father, explaining how they were to be used_. The images flashed through his mind, never stopping long enough for Ren to find focus. He wasn’t looking, not really, but he wanted to make it believable when he ultimately took your side against the general. One image caught his attention though, and he seized it, bringing it to the foreground. There you were, a little younger, a little less sure, facing off against a man two or three times your size. He watched closely as you fought the man, and it was obvious, even then, that your speed, your dexterity, your _ruthlessness_ couldn’t be beat. _Interesting_.

“Damnit Ren, that’s _enough_.” Ren heard Hux yell, but he didn’t jump out of your mind, not completely. Apparently his trip into your memories was taking a harsher toll than he had initially expected. You sat at the table, shaking, eyes closed, a thin sheen of sweat coating your forehead, your hands gripping the edge of the table so tightly that the blood had left your knuckles. Ren let go then, seeing the pain on your face, and you gasped in relief of his absence, breathing heavily to recover from the ordeal. 

The officers in the room sat in silence, breathless, all eyes on Ren. 

“Based on the evidence, Major,” Ren said, addressing Allecull, but facing General Hux, “I believe I’ll have to side with the Lieutenant."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We'll see the results of the sparring match in the next chapter. Who's excited for that? Thank you all for your support!


	4. Confrontation Pt. 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lot's of descriptions of fighting in this chapter, and a broken nose as well. If you're really squeamish about blood you might want to skip to this one.

On the morning of your match, the officer’s training room was alive with electricity, and Ren was not immune to the excitement, although he’d never show it. After the argument in the dining area, General Hux had suggested a private match to determine the winner, but word had spread amongst the ships’ personnel, and he was much too proud to stop them from attending. As a result, the room was packed with officers, all shuffling and vying for a better view of the impending action.

Ren was there too, and could see you from where he stood at the back of the crowd. You were with Mitaka, on the edge of the makeshift ring that had been outlined on the floor in tape. You didn’t feel nervous, from what Ren could sense, and you and Mitaka talked in low voices as he helped adjust the protective wrap around your left hand.

On the other side of the ring, Hux and Phasma stood together, and Ren didn’t need the force to notice that the general was very nervous. The normally stoic general was uncharacteristically fidgety, shifting from leg to leg and facing towards the mat, away from the crowd. Facing you. Ren wanted to get a closer look into Hux’s mind, wanted to push into his thoughts with the force, but wasn’t able to, as the referee fought her way through the throng, signaling that the fight was about to begin.

Finding an impartial referee for this fight had been difficult, and many officers had refused in order to avoid the risk of angering Hux, but one person did eventually volunteer. Ren recognized her as the maintenance worker who had unwittingly initiated the whole debacle in the dining room. Ren searched the minds of those around him, looking for her name. _Kendale Epelee_.

Kendale took her place at the center of the mat, and the nervous chatter rose for a moment before a feverish quiet settled over the crowd. “Everyone here knows the rules I assume,” Kendale spoke in a clear, calm voice, but Ren sensed that there was an edge there still. _She’s nervous for the lieutenant_. “But we’ll review anyways. Three rounds, best two out of three. Rounds end when someone is pinned for three seconds or knocked out. Stepping out of the ring or aiming for the groin will result in an automatic penalty.” A few whispered jeers rose from the group, but were silenced with a look from Kendale. “Any interference from the audience will result in an immediate expulsion.” Kendale beckoned you and the general foreward, watched as the two of you shook hands, and then moved out to the edge of the ring.

“Alright, take your places. And, fight!”

Apparently you needed no time to size-up your opponent, because as soon as Kendale finished her command, you struck. The general doubled over at the force of your kick, staggering back before righting himself. He threw a punch, but you dodged it easily, dancing just outside of the general’s reach. You moved around the edges of the mat, watching Hux closely. He chased after you, swinging again, but you rolled out of the way at the last second, a smile dancing on your lips. _She’s enjoying herself_ , Ren realized. You were in familiar territory, and it seemed that the general’s years of experience were no match for your natural skill. The general hesitated out of your reach, pausing to weigh his options, but before he, or anyone else in the room, saw it coming, you launched yourself at him like a cat, and had him pinned to the ground. The crowd went wild, and for the first time in a long time, Ren found himself smiling. 

“Winner, first round: the lieutenant!” Kendale announced, a genuine kind of pride leaking into her voice. You climbed off of the general, offering him a hand up. For a moment, it looked as if Hux considered refusing your help, but then accepted your hand, and then the two of you prepared for another round. As you took your positions, Ren had to fight to look disinterested in the whole affair. Watching you take down Hux had been the best thing he’d seen in a _long_ time, and while he knew you were good in a fight based off of the memory he had taken from you, he had no idea just how good you could be. The audience was on the edge with anticipation, and Ren heard his own thoughts echoed in the minds of some of its members: _you could really win this thing._

The second round started. The general had underestimated you during the first round, and he didn’t plan on doing it again. He struck first, a glancing blow to your side, and dodged to the left to avoid your swing. You were off balance, and the general took the opportunity to take you to the mat, ducking low and grabbing you by the waist. The two of you fell, Hux landing another blow to your jaw before you were able to roll out from under him and back to your feet. Any enjoyment you had found after winning the first round was gone, and a vicious determination found home in your eyes. Hux, Ren was surprised to find, found no joy in his slight lead in this round at all, only a rising dread, and a defeated kind of resolve. The general charged at you, and then faked to the right. You swung out with your fist, but his dodge had worked, and you stumbled forward with the momentum. You lost your balance only for a moment, turning back to the general, who was now behind you, but he was already moving with a swift kick straight towards your face.

The kick landed on its intended target, and you were thrown back to the mat with the force from the blow. The crowd was in hysterics, practically climbing over each other to see what would happen next, and Ren, for a moment, forgot how to breathe. You sat up on the mat, leaning on one arm, blood running from your nose, trying to stand, but the general was already upon you. You kicked out blindly, hoping to make contact, and your leg swiped at Hux’s upper thigh.

“Penalty!” called out Kendale, running to the mat and pushing the two of you apart. “No shots to the groin. That’s an automatic win this round for the general, and one free penalty hit.” A few members of the crowd, bolstered by your incredible performance, rose up in dissent to Kendale’s call, but it seemed that you had bigger problems. You stood up off the floor, trying to clean up the blood pouring from your face and over your mouth. Apparently the general had broken your nose.

Seeing you like that changed something in Ren. He already knew that this image of you would be frozen in his mind forever: your chest heaving, hair slick with sweat, your eyes full of fire as you stared the general down. The heavy bleeding from your broken nose running into your mouth, splattering itself over the mat and your clothing as you tried to breathe through your parted lips. Seeing you look so shattered broke something inside of him, and Ren was suddenly gripped with panic at the thought of watching the rest of the fight. He no longer cared about watching you beat the general, had no interest in seeing him suffer; he needed to see you safe.

Anger bubbled up in Ren’s chest as the general moved into take his one penalty hit. He watched, seething, as Hux grabbed your shoulder to brace himself, and delivered a swift punch to your abdomen. You doubled over from the force of the blow, and then, after a moment, returned to standing. You spoke, too quietly for the crowd, or Ren, to hear, and Hux replied. A brief smile crossed your face.

“We’ll take a pause before the third round so that the lieutenant can clean herself up,” Kendale said. You walked over to Mitaka, stretching out your arms and shoulders and completely ignoring the blood still spilling from your face. Hux returned to his side of the ring as well, a smug grin on his lips.

What had he said to you? Ren was dying to know; he couldn’t possibly fathom that you would forgive the general so easily after the cheap shot he had taken to your head, and the undeserved penalty hit. He focused on Hux’s thoughts, trying to find the conversation without alerting the general to his presence, but all he found was a thick layer of self-importance. Ren dived deeper, gently urging the general’s mind to thoughts of you, but the words you had shared so secretly stayed hidden from him. He did find, however, a kind of glowing respect Hux now held for you, and . . . a luminous ember of infatuation.

 _No_! Ren jumped from the general’s mind, livid at seeing his own newfound emotions echoed in his enemy’s thoughts. Before Ren could stop it, his fury took over, and he lost sight of the training room. He could see himself so clearly, in his mind, standing over Hux, blood streaming down the general’s face as Ren threw him into a wall, could feel himself lift the general from the ground, watching as he gasped for air. The electric sound his saber would make as he ran the general through.

You and Hux once again came to the center of the fighting ring, and Ren no longer cared about appearances as he leaned forward with a rapt and hysterical level of attention. No one was looking at him anyways; every eye was on the two of you in the center, ready for the final round. You had cleaned most of the blood off with Mitaka’s help, but traces of it will still smeared over your mouth and nose, like a rabid animal who had just finished off their prey. 

Kendale called for the start of the final match, and you immediately took the offensive, grabbing the general’s head with both hands and slamming it into your raised knee. Hux stepped back, disoriented from the blow, and the tear in his skin you had created above his eyebrow dribbled blood into his eye, impairing his vision. You jumped then, in an attempt to tackle him, but Hux dove low, out of your reach. When you landed, he reached out to grab you from behind, pinning your arms to your sides. You threw him off, but he was relentless, throwing punches and blocking jabs, cornering you at the edge of the ring.

Ren’s mind was in a state of chaos, terrified at the thought of seeing you injured again, disgusted at the sight of Hux’s hands on you, but unable to look away. He felt as if he was watching the fight take place underwater, those final seconds slowed down as he anticipated the worst. He watched helplessly as the general prepared to throw what would surely be the last punch, watched as you moved in an attempt to block, but you weren’t moving fast enough.

Ren didn’t think, didn’t have _time_ to think about anything beside protecting you, and instead acted on impulse as he reached out through the force, stopping the trajectory of the general’s fist as it neared you. Ren’s interference only lasted for a second, too quick to be noticed by the ravenous audience, but it had given you the chance to block Hux’s hand as it neared your face. Moments later, the fight was over, as you gripped the general in a complicated hold and threw him to the ground, where he stayed pinned beneath your weight.

The sound in the room was deafening as cheers erupted from the audience now that they finally had their victor. You moved off of the general and into the crowd, offering no helping hand this time as he laid there upon the mat. Ren searched your thoughts and found no satisfaction there, only a blazing anger towards the general, which you hid well behind a false smile as your companions congratulated you on your outstanding win. _She thinks the general threw the fight;_ Ren was glad that his intervention had not been noticed by you, and he took extra pleasure knowing that your misplaced anger was directed at Hux. He looked for the general then, wanting to relish Hux’s shame, wanted to see him sulk away in embarrassment. Ren looked around the room, trying to find Hux, and was surprised to find the general’s eyes were on him already, a glare fixed upon his face. _He knows_.

Ren felt a shiver of uncertainty then creep onto his shoulders. What if the general told you what he had done? How could he explain? Ren’s new feelings of attraction for you sat uncomfortably in his stomach, and suddenly, he felt young again, stuck on that forsaken island. _His_ voice, Luke’s voice, echoed through his mind, all of the commands he never could obey. The shame welled up in him, shame he had not felt in so long and it smothered him. 

Ren had felt difficult emotions before on a few occasions, and he planned again to take the same course he had always taken. He would run away.

In the weeks that he spent away from the _Finalzer_ , Ren thought he would find peace, or at least, the ability to forget. Instead, his thoughts were filled with you; the image of your face, still bloody from the fight, was a constant presence, inescapable even in his sleep. He roamed the farthest edges of the galaxy, explored long-forgotten remnants of ancient societies on distant planets, hunted and killed and destroyed any rumors of the Jedi and their teachings, and still, he thought only of you. 

The more he wandered, the more he wanted. Wanted to know what you were doing and what you were thinking. Wanted to know if you were maybe thinking of him, too. In the end, Ren returned to his ship and charted the course back to the _Finalizer_ , determined not to deprive himself of the things he wanted most now, as he had done so long ago. Attachments were forbidden for the Jedi, but Ren was no Jedi, not anymore. And he wanted you.


	5. Favors

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so a few things first. The last two chapters were flashbacks, and now we're back to the "present" in the story. Sorry if that transition is a little weird. I had initially written this chapter as the fight from Hux's perspective, but I felt like it was dragging way too much. If any of you are interested though, I would consider posting the draft of that chapter as a little bonus chapter. Let me know if that's something that you want!  
> Also, this chapter feels kind of boring to me, so sorry about that. The next few chapters are CRAZY though!

If seeing Kylo Ren in your office was bad, seeing him outside of your quarters would have to be described as catastrophic. But there he was, standing in the doorway of your living space. It was hard to believe that you had been with him in the training room only that morning—how different it had been to see him without the mask on.

“Hello Commander Ren, is there something I can help you with?” you asked, fidgeting. You had returned from your shift on the bridge not long ago, hoping to get some rest before helping the general that night, and so you were in your sleep wear: a pair of shorts and a long sleeved t-shirt. If Ren noticed your casual appearance, though, he didn’t mention it.

“Might I come in, Lieutenant?”

“Of course.” You didn’t want to anger Ren by refusing, but you were still worried. What could he possibly need from you now? Fear crept up the back of your neck as Ren stepped into your room and the door closed behind him. You tried very hard not to look embarrassed, but you never expected to have someone like the commander in your quarters and they were rather messy. You could feel a blush rise on your cheeks—there was evidence of your private life everywhere: your crumpled uniform still on the floor where you had stripped it off, piles of books and knick knacks crowding most flat surfaces. It was distinctly unprofessional, and you tried to imagine what Ren must be thinking of you. You stopped though, as soon as you remembered his ability to read minds.

You didn’t want to stare at him, but there was nowhere else to look as you waited for him to say something. He didn’t speak, still, but removed the helmet from his head, and tucked it under his arm. You relaxed, unconsciously, now that you could see his face. It was a nice face, you had decided after seeing it for the first time that morning, and much better than the mask, which made you feel like you were talking to something menacing and inhuman.

“I hope I’m not interrupting anything,” Ren said, “but I wanted to let you know that I’ll be off base for a few days. We’ll resume our sparring sessions as soon as I return.”

“Where will you be going?” you asked out of habit, and then regretted it immediately. You had only meant to be conversational, friendly even, like you were with the other members of the base, but asking the same question to Ren felt dangerous and had come off as incredibly intrusive.

“I’ll be on assignment from Supreme Leader Snoke,” he responded, avoiding the question. “I should return within the next seven days, and I’ll send word to you once I’m back.” It was not unusual for Ren to leave the _Finalizer_ for long stretches of time on assignment. You could remember once, not long after you had first started working aboard the ship, when no one saw Ren onboard for weeks.

“Thank you for letting me know; I’ll watch for your message.” You felt much lighter, now, knowing that Ren had not come to your door to have you removed from the ship or shot in the head. Your fears seemed silly in the present moment, but it was hard not to overreact given Ren’s reputation. In reality, the man you had heard so much about and the man standing in front of you felt like two different people, and you unquestionably liked the second one better. Ren stood there still, awkwardly, expectantly, almost. But expecting what?

“If you’ll excuse me, sir,” you said, “I’m meeting General Hux in a little while and I was hoping to get some rest beforehand.” Ren’s mouth tightened into a fine line, but he spoke graciously.

“Of course, Lieutenant, I’ll leave you now.” He replaced the helmet over his head, and another darkness seemed to come over him, as he moved to the door.

“Wait,” you stopped him, not wanting him to leave feeling angry at you, “I know you can’t tell me where you’re going, but if you happen to see any Galidraan pears,” you paused then, suddenly feeling shy, but Ren made no move to leave. “It’s just that, well, I’ve been craving them since I’ve been here, and they never have them on base . . .” you finished lamely. How could you be so stupid? The commander would be on assignment, not running silly errands! Ren said nothing, only staring at you through the mask. You tried not to squirm under his study, waiting for him to say something, or waiting for him to leave so you could be alone with your embarrassment. When you couldn’t stand it anymore, you spoke again, “I’m really sorry, Commander, that was foolish of me to ask, I just . . .” What _had_ you been thinking? Only moments ago you had been full of dread seeing Ren outside your doorway and now you were making requests as if you were friends?

“I’ll see what I can do,” Ren spoke then, and you startled at the sound of his voice through the modulator. Before you could thank him, or apologize again, he was gone. You returned to your bed, trying to sleep and escape your humiliation, but your mind was still on the conversation with the commander and your plans that night with the general, and you tossed and turned with anxiety until you fell into an uneasy rest.

You woke up to the sound your alarm a little while later, and got ready quickly. You opted for casual wear, seeing as how you weren’t _technically_ on duty, and while a military ship like the _Finalizer_ and its crew never really rested, most personnel were encouraged to keep a regular schedule for health reasons. Even if most of the officers would be in their rooms or asleep by now, you still hoped that you wouldn’t run into anyone familiar on your way to Hux’s quarters.

You walked the foreign and winding path to the general’s rooms, which were lower and deeper in the ship than you had ever traveled before. The door to the general’s private chambers looked like countless other doors aboard the _Finalizer_ , but you had to admit that you were very interested in what lay behind this door in particular. Would you be privy to evidence of the general’s life in his quarters, as Ren had been in yours? You stood in front of the door, guessing about what you might see, waiting for the sensor to alert Hux to your presence. 

The door opened, and the general was waiting for you behind it. He was dressed casually as well, or at least out of uniform, in a button down shirt, with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows, and a pair of slacks. He welcomed you in through the doorway, and you took in your new surroundings.

The general’s quarters were quite a bit larger than yours, but not particularly lavish. There was a seating area with an arrangement of sleek looking loveseats and sofas, and a small open dining room on the right side with food storage, a preparation area, and a small dining table. Towards the back of the room, separated from the seating and dining areas on a raised platform, sat a large bed taking up space against the wall, as well as a closet, vanity, and a bathroom with the door open, which contained one of the largest bathtubs you had ever seen. _I wish I had a bathtub,_ you thought to yourself, as you looked around. The entire room was decorated in greys and blacks, and completely spotless, as expected. However, unexpectedly, you also noticed a large viewport on the far right side of the room, near the bed. It stretched from the floor to the ceiling, and through it you could see what you thought must be thousands of stars and distant planets. Most view ports on the base were for functional uses only, and the fact that the general got a private view of space all to himself made you almost as jealous as the bathtub.

Hux cleared his throat in an attempt to get your attention. “Shall we get started?” he asked, gesturing for you to take a seat on one of the couches. You chose the largest, and he sat next to you, explaining the process for checking and approving of each of the documents. You listened closely as he talked, not wanting to miss any important details. You were so focused in fact, that you were almost startled out of your seat when something brushed up against your leg.

“Millicent!” the general cried out, and you looked down to see a small orange cat weaving its way around your ankles. Its fur was thick and fluffy, you could feel it purring as it moved against you. It looked up at you imploringly, with large green eyes, batting at your leg with one little paw. The general reached down to grab the cat, holding her gingerly against him as if he was carrying a small child.

“I’m sorry if she scared you; she usually hides under the furniture whenever strangers are around and I didn’t think we’d see her.” He moved towards the bathroom, ready to lock her away. Millicent obviously did not want to go, and she squirmed and pawed at Hux’s arm as he tried to maintain his hold on her. 

“It’s alright, you don’t have to put her in there! I like animals, I just didn’t know you had a cat,” you responded. You were trying not to laugh as you spoke, but the sight of the general holding the restless creature was both unexpected and hilarious, and despite her disobedient nature, he seemed endlessly patient and gentle with her. Hux paused, and then gently set Millicent on the ground again. She dashed back over to you, pawing at your legs again until you lifted her onto your lap. Purring contentedly as you stroked her thick orange fur, she curled into a little ball. You adjusted your legs, resting on your hip and tucking your feet up underneath you, giving her a small space to lay on the couch next to you.

The general came back to the seating area, finding a seat in his own chair. “I think I understand, General. Why don’t we get started?” you suggested, and Hux nodded in response. And with that, the two of you fell into an easy silence.

Maybe it had been a bad idea to ask for your help, because now that you were here, in his quarters, all Hux could think about was how much he wanted to kiss you. He hadn’t had any ulterior motives when he had suggested that the two of you work in his rooms—it was where he normally completed this assignment due to the late hour—but seeing you here, well, it made it hard to think about anything else. He tried not to watch you, tried to focus, but he still caught himself glancing up occasionally to admire you. You sat on his couch, curled comfortably into yourself, working on the documents with focused precision, occasionally reaching down to pet Millie as she slept next to you. He watched subtly, memorizing every detail of your face for later, the pace of his heartbeat quickening. _I can’t believe I’m jealous of a damn cat_ , Hux thought. The truth was, as much as he wanted to kiss you, as much as he wanted to, _stars_ , feel you move against him, he liked this too. He could see the two of you here together, sitting on that same couch, his head in your lap, working quietly. The feeling of your hand as it ran through his hair, the soft brush of your skin as you leaned down to place a gentle kiss at his temple. Late in the night, the two of you falling into bed wrapped up in each other. Hux tried not to imagine years of this: working together, living together, sleeping side by side, but the images came to him all the same.

The hours passed, the time nearing midnight, and you sat up and stretched, careful not to bump Millie as she slept. “I think I just submitted the last one,” you said quietly, your voice a little hoarse from the late hour and disuse. Hux was disappointed that the work had finished so soon, wishing for more time with you, but he stood up all the same.

“Thank you for your help, Lieutenant,” he said, and walked with you to the doorway. He was not anxious to see you go, but he could see how tired you were, and both of you had early mornings to look forward to. You paused before the doorway, making no move to leave, and Hux’s heart beat faster with anticipation. Maybe the things he wanted—he could barely stand to think of it now, standing so close to you—maybe you wanted them too.

“General,” you said, “I was wondering if . . .” you glanced away then, and Hux was waiting with bated breath to hear what you would say next.

“It’s just, your cat, she’s very sweet,” you continued, “and I never had a pet growing up and . . .”

“You can come visit her if you like,” Hux said, trying not to let his disappointment leach into his voice. It’s not like he expected you to throw yourself into his arms, but he'd be lying if he thought he didn’t hope for it. You smiled at him, though, and it almost made up for it, and he tried to console himself with the fact that if you came to visit his cat, he’d get to spend more time with you, as well.

“Thank you, General,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

“No Lieutenant, thank you,” and before he could say anything else, you were gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks for your support!


	6. Incandescence

The next morning, you headed straight for the coffee station in the officer’s lounge, pouring yourself the first of what you assumed would be many cups that day. While you were glad that you didn’t have your early training session with Ren to worry about, you were still low on sleep and were already looking forward to the end of your shift, when you could fall into bed and rest.

“Hope you enjoyed yourself, whore,” a voice called from behind you, one you recognized. _Allecull._ You turned to face him, careful not to let the sting of the insult show. He was sitting at the table with a few others, all of them glaring at you.

“What are you talking about, shit-stain?” you asked, moving towards the table. Allecull didn’t scare you, and his ridiculous taunts often served for great entertainment. Tired as you felt, it was always nice to take the major down a few pegs in a round of verbal sparring. At the same time, though, you felt a creeping nervousness inch over your body. Allecull was an asshole and a bit of a tyrant, but normally he criticized your work and abilities, not your personal life. You hoped he didn’t know about . . .

“I saw you leaving the general’s quarters last night,” another one of them spoke up, face warped with loathing, interrupting your train of thought. It was Lev Wintmal, one of the security officers. _Shit_. You had tried to be careful as you walked back to your own room, for this exact reason, taking less traveled corridors and checking around corners, but you had forgotten to be on the lookout for security droids or cameras. You schooled your face, knowing that if they saw even a hint of worry in your expression they would automatically assume guilt.

“You think I’m sleeping with the general?” you laughed, putting on an air of bravado. “Nice try, boys, but you don’t need to fuck your way to the top when you’re actually good at your job,” you paused for a moment before continuing, “and I don’t think it would work for you anyways. None of you seem like the general’s type.”

Allecull stood, grabbing your arm roughly. You threw his hand off, but faced him, his mouth twisted into a snarl.

“You little _bitch_ -”

“As far as you know, Major,” you cut him off, your anger growing to match his, “I’m the general’s bitch now. Which means that you might want to be very careful about the words you say next.”

Allecull’s backed down, and for a moment, you felt you had won, until you realized that his eyes were on someone standing behind you. _Don’t be the general, don’t be the general,_ please _don’t be the general_ , you hoped silently before turning around. Captain Phasma was standing there, arms folded in front of her, towering over both you and Major Lindeas. 

“A word, Lieutenant?” she asked, gesturing for you to follow. You walked with her out of the dining room and into the bustling mess hall, pure panic flooding through you. How much had she heard? Would she tell the general? You cursed yourself silently, wishing you had kept better control of your tongue.

You made it to Phasma’s office in silence, the guilt eating away at your nerves as the door closed behind you. She moved around her desk, taking a seat in her chair, all without speaking. It was more than you could bear.

“Captain, I-” you started, hoping to explain yourself, but she stopped you, holding up her hand for you to wait. And then, without warning, she reached up and removed her helmet from her head and set it down with a loud thunk on her desk.

In all the time you had worked with Phasma, over a year now, you had never seen her without her helmet, and for a moment, you were distracted from your fear as you took in her appearance. Her skin was pale and rosy; her features were softer and more gentle than you had expected—especially her eyes, which were large, blue, and framed by pale lashes. Her hair was light, whiter than her skin, and fell short and shaggy over her forehead and ears, uncombed and a little wild after being inside the helmet. She smiled expectantly at you, as if she just hadn’t done something totally insane, and gestured for you to take a seat.

“Captain, I’m really-” you tried once more as you sat down, but she once again cut you off with a wave of her hand.

“You don’t need to explain anything to me, Lieutenant.” Phasma always spoke with authority, but without the voice modulator, her voice sounded very nearly melodic. The whole situation was incredibly disorienting, especially after a sleepless night and an already difficult morning. 

“I brought you here because I need to ask a favor, but given what just happened in the dining lounge I’d like to keep it private.”

“You’re not angry with me?” You asked, in disbelief. For as long as you had known her, you had looked up to the captain, and her approval meant too much to you for you to brush off the previous events so quickly.

“I, more than anyone aboard this ship, know what you go through, Lieutenant,” she responded, a fierceness in her gaze as she looked at you, “I chose to deal with it with my fists, and you fight back with words. As far as I’m concerned, you should defend yourself anyway you know how. We could use more women like you aboard.” Her praise hit you in the chest like a blaster shot, and you were too stunned to reply.

“Now, about this favor. There’s a gala tomorrow night for many of the First Order’s top officials, and I will not be able to attend with the general as I normally do. I would like you to go in my place.”

“I would be honored, captain, really, but,” you paused for a moment, unsure if you should bring up the conversation with Allecull again, “are you sure that’s a good idea?”

“Of course I’m sure. This will give you an opportunity to meet more of the men in charge. And more importantly, they’ll get to meet you. These connections mean everything in our organization.” Her words were loaded with subtext and intrigue in ways that you couldn’t decipher, but you felt a thrill rise in your chest. You had never been to a gala before, and thinking about it now, you wanted to go, badly. 

“Alright, Captain, if you insist,” you said, “but I don’t have anything to wear.”

Phasma smiled, her teeth brilliantly white behind pink lips. “I believe we can arrange something suitable.”

She didn’t want to show it, but Phasma was, frankly, exhausted. Not by _you_ , of course, she enjoyed your company rather well. You were talented, capable, and always ready for a fight, which she admired immensely. But Hux’s obsession with you _did_ tire her. For too long she had listened to him drone on and on about you, and she always gave the same advice. _Stop being a bitch and d_ _o something about it_. But the general continued to drag his feet, and now with Ren acting like a fool and Lindeas and his accusations, Phasma had decided to take matters into her own hands, for your sake, if no one else’s.

She led the way as the two of you walked. The _Finalizer_ was large and often confusing to navigate, but there were many hidden resources for those familiar with the ship, and Phasma knew exactly where she was taking you. She stopped in front of a large hangar door and typed in her access code. The doors opened, and beside her, you gasped audibly at the sight.

The Wardrobe and Uniforms Department was one of the largest non-combative entities on the ship, and while Phasma had little use for the more entertaining services they provided, she did enjoy the view. The room was large, almost three stories, so deep that the back of it could not be seen from the doorway, and packed full of clothing. Large conveyors holding everything from tactical gear to nightgowns rose from the floor to the ceiling, taking up every inch of space in the enormous room. Phasma watched as you gingerly stepped through the doorway, taking it all in. A man sat at a small desk by the entrance, smiling expectantly as the two of you entered.

“Hello,” he said genially, “How can I assist you?”

“The lieutenant here is attending the gala tomorrow night and needs something to wear.” Phasma pushed you forward towards the desk as she spoke.

“Wonderful,” the man responded, grabbing his data pad from his desk and entering a series of commands. “What did you have in mind?”

“Where in the _bloody_ stars is she?” Hux asked quietly to no one in particular, standing alone in the main hangar. A few workers puttered around, moving cargo or performing maintenance, and the general waited impatiently by the ship that was supposed to be taking him to the gala, which he was not looking forward to in the slightest. He was dressed in a simple suit made of rich black cashmere, and a stiff cotton button-down with terribly uncomfortable collar. He felt absolutely ridiculous, wishing that he could wear his uniform instead. At least that was something familiar. Comfortable, even, compared to this attire.

“The ship’s all ready, sir,” the pilot said, emerging from the loading area. Cas Kindi had been flying with the general for years, and, as of late, had acted as his personal pilot for events like these.

“The captain isn’t here yet,” Hux said, cooly, pressing the heel of his palm to his forehead. He wanted a cigarette. Or to be in his quarters with a glass of wine. Wanted to be anywhere but where he was, doing anything besides what he was about to do.

Kindi started to reply, but was interrupted by the perplexing clack of high heels on the durasteel floors of the corridor. The pilot and the general turned simultaneously to see someone running towards them down the hallway, wearing a ballgown and looking frantic.

Sorry I’m late,” you said, stopping before them, out of breath, “I went to the wrong hangar.”

He knew he should say something, but Hux’s brain had shut down. You were in a sleeveless dress of burnished gold that sparkled, even in the dim light. It hugged tightly to your torso, with the neckline low, exposing the delicate skin above your chest, which heaved as you tried to catch your breath from your run. The skirt was voluminous, and fell to the floor in layers of flowing gold fabric that darkened towards the bottom until they were pitch black, shimmering like the night sky. Your hair was also adorned with stars, and swept back away from your face, with gently curling tendrils framing your kohl-lined eyes. Your lips were painted a dark cherry red, and Hux overcome with the desire to know what they tasted like.

“Did Phasma not tell you . . .?” you asked, your brow furrowed in confusion. _Say something_! Hux tried to form a sentence, but his eyes were still on your lips, and his mind was elsewhere right now.

“We were just waiting for her,” Kindi cut in, to Hux’s relief.

“She asked me to come in her place, actually. Did she really not mention it?” Your concerned expression deepened, and Kindi looked nervously to Hux, the two of you waiting for his response.

“She didn’t say anything,” Hux finally managed to choke out some words. He knew he should probably be angry at the captain for not telling him about her little plan, but _that dress . . ._

“Oh,” you responded, “well I don't want to impose . . .” 

“Not at all!” Hux was talking too loudly, too eager. _Get a hold of yourself._ He took a deep breath, trying to slow the rapid, irregular beating of his heart, and offered you his arm.

“I’m sure the captain had good reason. If you please . . .“ you took Hux’s arm, smiling brightly, and he helped you up the loading ramp and onto the waiting ship. Kindi followed closely behind, and then edged her way around you on the way to the cockpit.

The transport ship provided by the First Order had a small, plush sitting area, full of poufy couches, and a low table set with two glasses and a bottle of champagne waiting to be poured. Normally, Hux and Phasma used this travel time to get a little drunk and bitch about these ridiculous parties and the _Finalizer_ crew, but in this instance, Hux didn’t think that would be appropriate. Still, he opened and poured the champagne as you walked around the small ship, taking in your surroundings.

You reached for the glass he offered, and Hux watched as you took it, your hand shaking. His eyes met yours and you gave him a tight lipped smile, your anxiety written clearly on your face. He felt sympathy for your nerves, which echoed his own, even if they stemmed from different causes. 

“Have you been to a gala like this before?” Hux asked, taking a seat on one of the couches. You followed suit, sitting down next to him, leaning your head back and breathing in deeply.

“The last event I attended was my own graduation. And that’s nothing compared to something like _this_.” The Academy threw a ball for the graduating class each year, but they were small and intimate affairs, especially when compared to the pomp and circumstance of a First Order gala.

“Would it help if we went over protocol for tonight?” Hux asked, and you nodded gratefully, sitting up and turning your full attention to him. This would be good for both of you, Hux decided. It would hopefully distract you from your worries, and maybe blathering about etiquette and procedures would take the general’s mind away from the idea of reaching out and brushing his fingers over the soft skin of your neck.

“These nights always begin with two separate cocktail receptions: one for the men and married couples, and another for women,” you snorted in distaste, but he continued, “And then the procession to the ballroom will begin. The Directorate and their wives will enter first, and then the single men, by order of rank. After, the women will be announced, ranked officers and then guests of the First Order, and then there will be the socializing, dining, and dancing. Do you remember how to greet other officers?”

“Offer my hand and curtsy to anyone above my rank, shake hands and bow to other lieutenants,” you repeated mechanically, the information drilled into you at the Academy quickly coming back. Hux nodded in confirmation before continuing his instruction.

“I’ll be your chaperone for the evening, as your commanding officer, which means that I’ll introduce you to the others during the social hour, and any invitations to dance will go through me first-”

“That’s sexist,” you interrupted, your declaration serious but your tone lighthearted. Your glass was empty, and it was evident that the drink had loosened your tongue and quieted your nerves. Hux was worried that he might have offended you, but your eyes were bright, with no trace of anger, the way you smiled at him made him feel like the two of you were sharing a secret.

“I agree,” he said, “absolutely ridiculous. You should hear the captain talk about it. She’s refused to participate in most of the bullshit—her word, not mine—and the Directorate is too frightened of her to correct her.”

You giggled at his mention of Phasma, as unfunny as it was; the wine had gone to your head. Hearing you laugh, Hux raised a rare smile in response. He wanted to try and make you laugh again.

“There is a benefit to the whole inane system, though. No one will find you rude if I’m the one refusing the proposals, of which I’m sure there will be plenty.” 

“But who will you dance with, General, while I’m off with my many suitors?” You giggled, and then looked him in the eye, suddenly serious. Your faces were closer than they had been before, your expression soft. As he looked into your eyes, he was sure that his desire for you was written everywhere on him. As if on impulse, he leaned in closer, the air between you electric with his want.

The ship jolted as you jumped out of hyperspeed, interrupting your moment. Kindi came out of the cockpit, peering around the corner.

“Sorry to interrupt, General, but we’ve made it,” she said, and then left to steer the ship to landing.

The two of you stood, and Hux was struck with embarrassment for his brazen behavior. Had you noticed? It was hard to tell; he watched for signs of it as you smoothed your dress and checked your hair in the reflective surface of the wall. He could see that the talk of etiquette had not completely erased your nerves, and you adjusted your appearance with a meticulous eye for detail. Hux offered his arm to you again, and you looked at him gratefully, clinging to him with a forceful grip.The door opened, and the two of you stepped out of your ship and onto the loading platform.

For a moment, the light of it all was blinding.


	7. Empress

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been nervous about posting this chapter for the last two weeks! Let me know what you think :)

Stepping out of the ship and into the hangar of the _Supremacy_ was like stepping into another world. The room was full of lights and people, all well-dressed and haughty, somehow looking both effortlessly glamorous and extraordinarily ruthless as they made their way to the party’s entrance. You and Hux stood on the loading dock of your ship towards the back of the hangar, waiting for a moment to enter the throng. The room was impossibly large and still seemed packed wall-to-wall with bodies, and your pulse hammered through your veins, your heart beating erratically at the walls of your ribcage. You felt ill suddenly at the sight of it, light-headed, and for a moment you worried that you might faint in front of everyone. You were briefly distracted from your terror, though, as the general moved his hand to yours, releasing your death grip on his arm, and grabbing you gently by the shoulders, turning you to face him.

“You’re alright,” he said, his tone calm and his voice soft. His thumb rubbed slow circles on your right shoulder, and you were close enough that you could feel his breath brush against your cheeks. 

“You can do this,” he continued, “and I’ll be right here.” 

“What if I say the wrong thing? Or forget protocol?” you whispered, too quiet for the noisy room, ‘What if they don’t like me?”

“Lieutenant,” Hux said with an earnest intensity, so different from the reserved demeanor you were used to, “you _deserve_ to be here. You’re a damn fine soldier. You’ve earned your place one hundred times over, and none of these people can take that away from you.” You had never heard him speak to you like this before, so candid, had never felt the bare skin of his hands on your shoulders, and the combination almost made you as light-headed as the crowd did. Renewed and a little dumbfounded by his praise, you took in one last shuddering breath and then straightened your posture, determined. Hux removed his hands from your shoulders, and you missed the pressure almost immediately. He offered you his arm once again and you took it, the two of you making your way into the churning crowd. 

Apparently your nerves had been unwarranted, because as soon as you stepped into the smaller and cozier social area set aside for the women, someone sitting at one of the low tables with a few others waved you over. You walked over tentatively, taking the last open seat at their table, and accepting another glass of champagne from a nearby waiter. Each of the women at the table was varied and distinct in their appearance, but all of them were breathtakingly gorgeous.

“You’re new here,” the first woman stated. She was older than you, you could tell, but whether it was ten or twenty or thirty years you couldn’t be exactly sure. She had high cheekbones and dark skin, luminous, golden even in the muted light. Her hair was long and straight and black, streaked with silver, parted down the middle and flowing gently over her shoulders, and her gaze was intense, but kind. The other two women were equally stunning: one a fresh-faced girl with pale skin and shockingly red hair, and the other a woman about your age with a head full of wild curls and stunning green eyes, lined in black.

“It’s so nice to see a new face around here; there’s rarely any variety in the guest list anymore and I’m so _bored_ with all these other women,” the red-haired girl spoke emphatically, reaching across the table to hold your hands in hers, “Tell us, what’s your name?”

You introduced yourself, and then shook hands with each of them as they shared their names in turn.

“What brings you to the gala, dear girl?” Nyaketh, the older woman, asked.

“I’m a lieutenant aboard the _Finalizer_ , working under the direction of Captain Phasma and General Hux.”

“You’re here with General Hux?” asked the red-head, Laria, with a mischievous grin on her face, “he’s _very_ handsome.” She and the other girl, Raybri, fell into a fit of giggles, and a blush rose to your cheeks.

“He’s my commanding officer,” you said, hoping that they couldn’t see the redness in your face. You _did_ think the general was handsome, but you didn’t want anyone to know that. Your thoughts drifted back to the moment on the loading dock, his hands so steady as he held you, and then on the ship, before you landed. The look he had in his eyes, you could have sworn . . .

“The general is quite popular at these events,” Nyaketh commented, a knowing smile on her face.

“My father wants me to pursue him,” Raybri said, “because he thinks the general’s approval will gain him back the respect of the Directorate.”

“Well _my_ father thinks that a match with the general would bring more of the First Order’s business to our ship-breaking facilities,” said Laria, in response, before the two broke into tittered laughter again.

“I had no idea that General Hux was so . . . admired,” you said, wishing for the conversation to be over. You should have realized that many people would be vying for the general’s attention, especially at an event like this, but for some reason you had not considered it. Thinking about it now put a peculiar feeling in your stomach, for reasons you could not quite understand.

“Don’t worry, darling,” said Nyaketh as she put a reassuring hand over yours, “the general is a loyal man; I’m sure you have nothing to worry about.” You paused, unable to respond as you puzzled over her words. She looked into your eyes pointedly, and her meaning suddenly hit you.

“The general and I aren’t _together,_ ” you said, blanching at the suggestion. Did they also think you were pursuing the general to increase your status, like Allecull had suggested? Did General Hux feel the same way? You could feel the palms of your hands grow warm and clammy at the thought, but his voice broke through, diminishing your worries, _you're a damn fine soldier._

“Well, that might change soon,” Raybri responded, her words interrupting your train of thought, as she leaned in with a conspiratorial wink, “now that he’s seen you in that dress.” You tried to defend yourself, tried to defend the general, but no words came out. Before you could form a proper sentence, the other three stood from the table, walking to the far side of the room. It was time for the women to make their entrance. You rose to follow, their remarks about you and Hux still floating around in your head.

General Hux stood on the edge of the spacious ballroom, a strange mixture of boredom and anticipation sitting in his chest. After leaving you in the hallway, he had suffered through the drinking and socializing and the Officer’s Entrance, and was now waiting for the moment when you would appear again.

“Armitage,” called a man a little ways away, standing in a group with a few others, “don’t be so unsociable, come join us!” Hux fought the urge to roll his eyes, but walked over anyways, joining the other men. He had known Vice-Admiral Cordo Beck since the Academy, and had hated him for as long as he could remember.

“Evening, Beck,” the general said begrudgingly, as Beck thumped his back in greeting—an annoying display of dominance. Hux shook hands with the other men in the group, but the gesture was mostly pointless, he already knew all of them by name.

“Where’s your shiny, metal friend?” Beck asked, a hum of laughter on his lips. A few others chuckled in response, and Hux took a deep breath, trying to find some patience.

“The captain couldn’t attend this evening.” 

“Here all by yourself? Who will keep all those starving girls away from you now?” Beck spoke humorously, but Hux noticed the bite of jealousy in his words. It would have been satisfying, if he had any interest in any the women there. Or at least, any of the women besides you. The other men in the group laughed lewdly, and Hux’s jaw tightened as he attempted to hold his tongue. It didn’t work.

“Actually, I’m not here alone. A lieutenant from the _Finalizer_ will be joining me this evening.” He relished the look of shock on the other mens’ faces, trying to ignore the guilt pressing at the back of his mind. Insinuating that you were his companion for the event could complicate things, but when an opportunity to make Beck look like an idiot came up, it was hard to resist. 

“A date? Really, general! You’re full of surprises,” Beck examined the general deftly as he spoke, and then, since he was unable to go more than thirty seconds without being an absolute bastard, said, “Let’s all hope that she’s a step up from the captain.” The men laughed again at Phasma’s expense, and this time Hux forced himself to take a drink to avoid saying anything reckless.

“Stars, look at the time, we better get our places; the meat market is starting,” Beck said then, slapping the general on the back again. The men began to make their way to the base of the stairs from which all of the women in attendance would enter. _Finally_. Hux resented the term used by the other officers when referring to what was officially known as the Grand Entrance, but his excitement to see you again momentarily overpowered his disdain. The men crowded around the stairs, and Hux tried to find a place to stand away from Beck, but the wretched man wormed his way next to the general as the event started.

With each name announced, Hux grew more nervous, anticipating the moment when you would appear, and all the possibilities that the night still held. Drinking, dining, dancing, and, in his most undisciplined imaginations, a quiet corridor away from the party, one hand at the base of your neck, the other at your hip, pressing you against a wall, your lips at his ear—his neck. Something illicit for the two of you two share before returning to the structure and expectations of the _Finalizer_.

The procession began, and the female officers were announced first, by order of rank, but there were not many in attendance. All of them were familiar faces, and they made their way into the crowd, some finding companions waiting for them at the base of the stairs and others unaccompanied. Yours was the 7th name announced, and hearing it, Hux held his breath. A few others in the crowd paused their murmured conversations as well, curious at the sound of an unfamiliar name, and the chance to meet a new guest.

“Let’s see this mystery date, then, General,” Hux heard Beck say as they stated your rank and position, but he brushed it off, too eager to risk missing your entrance. And when you appeared at the top of the stairs, the world stopped. 

Hux couldn’t believe it, but despite the effort he had put into memorizing every detail of your appearance, he had somehow forgotten exactly how stunning you were. The stars that adorned your hair looked like a crown made from the night sky itself, and your dress caught the light as you stood at the top of the steps. Hux found no self-doubt in your expression now, and instead you surveyed the guests below as if _you_ had been the one they all were waiting for, regal in every sense of the word. You looked like a queen, Hux thought to himself, still breathless at the sight of you, _like an empress_.

“Stars, Armitage,” Beck whispered beside him, “where in the galaxy did you find her?” Hux didn’t respond, only made his way to the front of the crowd, and held out his hand as you took the last few steps. You smiled when you saw him, a genuine smile, and Hux felt himself grinning in response, although he tried to restrain himself. At the bottom of the stairs, you bowed to the members of the Directorate in attendance, and then you and the general took your place in the crowd.

After the Grand Entrance finished, you and General Hux found yourselves bombarded with enthusiastic attention from many of the guests, eager to meet you. You were charming in your introductions: humble, kind, funny, and Hux felt a swell of pride in his chest having you by his side. The dinner was more of the same, and he could see it in the faces of the other officers—everyone was enamored with you.

When the dancing began, Hux begrudgingly listened as many men asked him for permission to accompany you on the dance floor. He agreed of course, against his own will and better judgement. You moved beautifully, there was no denying it, but Hux could not ignore the hot flashes of anger at watching those fools put their hands on you, pushing you around the ball room with little grace or skill.

Another dance ended, and you found him once again on the edge of the room, where he was dutifully ignoring the small group of women inching closer, hoping to catch his eye. Your face was flushed from all the excitement, or all the wine, and your smile was lively as you joined him at his side.

“You’re not dancing,” you said to him as the conductor announced another song, gently nudging him with your elbow. Hux had not bothered to ask anyone to dance, and was instead trying to gain the courage to ask _you_ , but so far he had been unsuccessful, overcome with nerves at the thought of it. Still, there was no time like the present, as the night was close to its end, the ballroom slowly emptying as the guests took their leave. Hux opened his mouth, about to extend the invitation, when the two of you were interrupted.

“Excuse me, General, but I was hoping that you’re lovely companion here would favor me with a dance,” Vice Admiral Beck addressed the general, but leered at you as he spoke, expectantly. Hux’s initial reaction was to tell Beck to go fuck himself, but before he could, you spoke instead.

“I’m terribly sorry, Admiral Beck, but the general just asked me to dance,” you said to Hux’s surprise, taking him by the hand and leading him onto the dance floor. Hux followed you clumsily, shocked by this turn of events, but still managed to turn back and see the incredibly satisfying look of frustration on Beck’s face.

You took your places on the dance floor with the other couples, and Hux tried to stop his hands from shaking as he reached for your waist. The music started, and he relied on instinct as the two of you moved, completely forgetting the steps he had once known so well. 

“What an odious man,” you said, your eyes on Cordo Beck as you twirled around the space.

“You know him?” Hux did not expect you to be familiar with someone like the vice-admiral, who moved in circles well above the rank of a lieutenant.

“Not personally, but my father has worked closely with him in the past, and I’ve heard him complain about Beck often.”

Hux paused for a moment in thought, suddenly curious. He had never considered your parentage before, despite the fact that, as an officer in the organization, your parents were probably people he had worked with closely. Your surname was not one he recognized, though, which made this newfound mystery all the more intriguing. Apparently, you recognized the confusion on his face, because you moved in to him, closer than was probably proper in a ballroom full of people, pressing yourself against him gently, so that you could speak into his ear.

“My father,” you began, your breath grazing the side of his face and your voice low, “is Allegiant General Enric Pryde.” Hux stumbled, dumbfounded, before regaining his footing and continuing the dance.

 _Enric Pryde._ Just the sound of his name filled Hux with unbridled loathing. Pryde was one of the most powerful men in the First Order and General Hux knew him well. A cruel man, and a friend of his _father_ , Hux had always hated the Allegiant General since he was a child. _That_ man was your father. He tried to process this information, and found it unworkable, a million questions whirling through his mind.

“I didn’t know that the general had any children,” Hux said in response, hoping you couldn’t hear the hatred in his voice.

“He’s not my _real_ father,” you explained, voice still low, “but I was taken in by Pryde at a young age, after my parents died. Pryde and his wife, they never had children, but wanted them badly. When they . . . found me, they treated me as their own, but others in the Order—on our planet Alsakan—they questioned my legitimacy as his heir. I was not . . . treated well by many of the people there, and so they sheltered me from all of this. The Prydes never planned to send me to the Academy, but when I told them that I wanted to go, the general made sure I was admitted.”

When you leaned away from Hux again, he noticed tears in your eyes, threatening to spill over onto your face. He had never seen you so solemn, and he felt the urge to rest his hand on your cheek in comfort.

“When I entered the Academy, I kept my original surname. I didn’t want anyone to think that I hadn’t earned my place here, or that I was receiving special treatment. General Pryde worries for my safety; he doesn’t want me to become a target, from threats inside or out of the Order, so we’ve kept our connection a secret.” The song had ended, but you made no move to leave the dance floor, instead taking both of Hux’s hands in yours and bringing them close to your chest, pleading.

“If the others aboard the _Finalizer_ knew the truth, I’d never be taken seriously. Please, General, don’t tell anyone.”

Emboldened by your request and your honesty, Hux placed one hand under your chin, lifting your gaze to meet his own. He needed you to feel his sincerity, to see it in his face that he, more than anyone, understood what you were going through, and what you were trying to avoid.

“I’ll keep your secret, Lieutenant. I promise.”


	8. Fighting Chance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello friends! This chapter features a near-death experience, so read with caution!

The surface of the planet Ilum, soon to be known as Starkiller Base, was bitingly cold, and the snow fell in icy sheets over the newly cleared ground. After the gala, General Hux diverted the course of the _Finalizer_ to Illum in order to check progress on the project, most of which was taking place deep in the planet’s core. Construction had started only a few years ago, and there was still much to do, but the general was feeling uncharacteristically optimistic, especially after the events of last night. The fact that you trusted him with the truth of your parentage did not sit lightly with him, and he was surprised at the fact that you had opened up to him so readily. You hadn’t brought it up again, though, on your journey back to the _Finalizer_ , instead discussing your thoughts of the party, the people you had met, and the novelty of the experience, your eyes alight with wonder as you reflected on the evening’s events. Hux had listened with charmed attention, marveling at the familiarity with which you now treated him. Sitting with him on the couch, occasionally reaching over to set your hand against his arm, your knees brushing against his thigh. It was better, more real, than anything he had imagined, and he had fallen into his bed that night after bidding you farewell, a little delirious with joy at the realization that you _trusted_ him, and he felt that, maybe, he could trust you too.

He could see you now on the grounds, and he observed as you worked with a division of Storm Troopers, running drills in the large cleared space, taking advantage of your stop on Ilum to train the troops in less-than-ideal weather conditions. Despite the bitter cold, you wore only a light jacket, leading the group in laps around the area. Phasma was there as well, watching her men attentively as they worked, and Hux moved to join her.

“Good morning, General,” Phasma said in greeting, “how was your evening?” Her voice came through the modulator emotionless, impassive, but Hux knew her well enough to sense the true implications of the question.

“You should have told me.” Hux couldn’t find it in himself to be angry at Phasma, but chose to chide her anyways, even if it was only flippantly. 

“Oh please, you would never had agreed. And besides, if your good attitude is any indication of how things went, you should be thanking me.”

“You’re right, Captain. I should be thanking you, but I don’t think I will. Not yet.”

“You’re joking, General; how unlike you. The night must have gone better than I thought it would.” Phasma looked at him pointedly, and it took conscious effort for Hux to keep himself from smiling. He watched the Storm Troopers move to spar in pairs at your command, and you ran over to Phasma and Hux, your cheeks and nose pink from the cold, but your eyes bright and energetic. Hux stood taller at the sign of your approach, straightening his already-perfect posture.

“Good morning, General,” you said genially, moving to stand beside him.

“Good morning, Lieutenant,” he responded, and then, with a little less formality, “how are you?”

“I’m well, thank you.” Your conversation was precise, but the smile on your face was friendly, and Hux felt his heart flutter at the realization that you were happy to see him there. He took a moment to admire you, and you returned his gaze, that look that he loved so dearly in your eyes. He was so focused on your face, in that moment, that he had no chance to notice the approaching disaster.

In the moments of the crash, time cut in and out for Hux. He heard the rumble, first, then felt the heat of it, and had no time to brace himself before all of you were thrown to the ground from the impact. He watched you fall, wanted to reach for you, but could not gain control of his limbs. The world flashed by in flickers of sky and snow, and then there was silence and darkness, as his head hit the frozen ground. 

When he regained his consciousness, it was you he saw first. You were sitting over him, frantic, panicked, but you made no sound, even as your mouth moved to form words. You sat him up roughly, your hands searching his torso, and then his head for any wound, your flighty fingers shaking against him as they moved. Hux felt it as you took his face in your hands, as if to kiss him, and he let his eyes flutter closed in preparation. You shook him gently, instead, and his hearing returned, a loud roar filling his ears.

“General! Are you hurt?” you asked wildly, and he shook his head, searching for the source of the commotion. As soon as you realized that he was alright, you ran, and Hux lurched to his feet in pursuit. You were sprinting to the scene of the crash, a ship about fifty yards from where you had been standing, badly damaged, smoke pouring out of the open hatch. Hux chased after you, pulling you to a stop before you could reach it.

“Let go!” you screamed at him, your eyes wild with fear, trying to pull your arm from his grip. “The ship- the pilot! Someone has to help!”

“You can’t go in there!” he shouted over the chaos surrounding you. He attempted to get a better hold on you, to pull you close and shelter you, but you escaped from his grasp, running again.

Hux felt his knees give out, and he fell to the ground, terror filling him as he watched you run towards the wreckage. He had been _so_ _close_. Everything he had ever wanted had been within his grasp, and now . . .

Hux recognized the ship, _had_ recognized it as soon as he saw it. A few days before, he had seen it take off from the hangar of the _Finalizer_.

That _damned_ ship. It was Ren’s.

The inside of the ship was thick with black smoke, and you pulled the damp collar of your shirt over your mouth and nose as you felt your way in the darkness. There was no light, and you relied on your other senses as you desperately tried to find the cockpit. You closed your eyes, trying to focus, schooling your breathing, forcing your heartbeat to slow as you felt along the walls. Your heart surged with relief as your fingers finally brushed over the control panel for the entrance to the cockpit. You pressed the buttons at random, falling through the doors as they rushed open, sucking in the relatively clean air, and then quickly closing the door again to keep the smoke out. The light streaming in from the viewport was dim and distorted, and you struggled to see in the half-light as you made your way to the pilot’s seat, turning it to face you.

 _Shit_. Kylo Ren sat in the pilot’s chair, helmetless, unconscious. You noticed a large wound in his side, which had coated his uniform and the seat with dark, sticky blood. Quickly, you took stock of your surroundings, noticing his helmet and saber in the co-pilot seat, as well as a blaster and satchel. You moved in closer to the unconscious commander, and then took him gently by the shoulders, trying to shake him awake. There was no response. Smoke slipped silently under the door of the cockpit, and you could feel the heat of the fire as it spread throughout the ship. You were running out of time.

“Please don’t kill me,” you whispered under your breath, before bringing your fist back, and punching Ren across the face.

Ren felt a sharp pain in his cheek, and then his eyes flew open, searching for a threat. He saw you, first, your hands clawing at your neck, eyes bulging, as if you were choking. He looked for the source of your peril, moving to help you, before realizing that _he_ was the cause. He released his force hold on you, and you fell to the ground, gasping. _Shit._ Ren looked around. He was in the cockpit of his ship, but something about it was uncanny, different. He reached up to remove his mask, and found that it was not there, but in the seat across from him. He moved to help you off the ground, but his legs wouldn’t support his weight, his whole body aching, and his mind was cloudy as he tried to figure out how he, and you, had ended up in this situation.

“Fire. We have to go,” you spoke to him weakly, but with urgency, as you climbed to your feet, leaning over him the chair. You grasped him by the arms and pulled him to his feet with more strength than he had expected. Ren tried to stand on his own, but stumbled into you, pushing you against the far wall as you struggled to support his weight. His head was reeling, pain racked his body, and you steadied him, moving his arm over your shoulder so that he could lean on you for support. 

“Does your mask filter out smoke?” you asked, reaching for his helmet from the chair. Ren could only nod in response, the gash at his side throbbing, sending shooting tendrils of pain through him. You grabbed the helmet with one hand, and then helped him place the mask over his head, and he felt the helmet lock into place as he took a deep breath of the filtered air. You moved to the door, tugging on Ren to follow, but he stopped.

“Saber,” he choked out the word and reached for the weapon and the satchel, grabbing them both in one hand. He attempted to swing the satchel over his shoulder, but the pain of it nauseated him. You took both items from him, slinging the satchel over your arm, not bothering to ask about the contents, and holding the weapon in your free hand. He watched as you moved the collar of your shirt over your mouth and nose again before hitting the control panel, and stepping into the darkness. 

The two of you stepped into the corridor, the heat of the still-unseen fire blistering over your exposed skin. Ren leaned onto you, and moving while supporting his weight was awkward, but you surged forward anyways, desperate to find the exit again. Ren’s saber was heavy in your hand, and on instinct you chose to ignite it, holding it above you to light the way to your escape.

The saber cast an eerie glow over the inside of the ship, and the smoke still impaired your vision, but it was better than moving blind. You hobbled clumsily forward, down the hallway you had taken before, your progress slow. The warmth of the fire only grew more oppressive, and you could feel the sweat pouring from your skin, soaking into your clothes. The hilt of the lightsaber was slick in your hands, thrumming slightly, and you gripped it tightly so that you wouldn’t drop it. Despite your slow progress, you could see light ahead, and you almost cried with relief. There was only one more corner, and then you would be safe.

 _Shit._ The heat of the fire blasted you as you turned in to the final hallway, and you closed your eyes and sheltered your face against the flames. The fire had spread since you had first entered, and now it blocked the exit, the smoke so substantial and oppressive that you could hardly see any daylight beyond the flames. You backed away from the fire, around the corner again in desperation. 

“We’re trapped,” you spoke quietly. You felt your knees buckle, and you fell to the floor of the ship, your back against the wall. The saber fell from your hands and deactivated, plunging you into semi-darkness. Without your support, Ren had crumpled as well, practically falling on top of you, his body up against yours hardly making a difference in the oppressive heat. He stayed there, unable or unwilling to move, his head by your shoulder, and you could hear his breathing loud in your ear as the panic left your body and despair overcame you. You were going to die here. The air you breathed in was thick and acrid, and your lungs rejected it, deep coughs racking your frame. Tears fell from your eyes, unbidden, and you forced your face into Ren’s shoulder to protect your skin from the heat. At least you wouldn’t die alone.

“Give it to me,” Ren demanded quietly, his voice breaking through your distress. You looked at him for a moment, delirious, before you realized he was reaching for the saber. You managed to grab it and place it in his hands, and he stood then, the agony of the movement clear in his posture, but he offered you his hand, and you took it.

He helped you to your feet, and then immediately you were forced to support him, both of you leaning against the wall as you tried to stay upright. He let go of you, for a moment, reaching with one hand to remove his helmet, and before you could object, he placed it over your head. It didn’t seal properly—there was nothing for it to seal to—but the air you breathed in was cleaner now, and you no longer felt the flame so intensely. You watched through the mask as Ren pulled his cowl over his face, ignited the saber, and offered you his outstretched hand.

He still relied on you for support, but this time he led the way, taking you back through the corridor and into the cockpit, which was now filled with smoke. Ren fell into the pilot’s chair, his face drenched with sweat, his breathing heavy and labored, but he grabbed the blaster from where he had left it on the chair and handed it to you, gesturing to the window. _The viewport_ , the realization broke through the haze, and you immediately took aim. The shots echoed through the small room, one after another, and you watched as small cracks formed in the transparisteel. The structure of the window was weakening, but not enough to shatter it. Ren stood, and placed a hand on your shoulder to stop you, then picked up his saber again, igniting it and thrashing wildly against the damaged material. The viewport broke open, a gust of cold air rushing in and clearing some of the smoke. Ren grabbed you, lifting you from the ground and over the control panel and you heard him gasp from the pain of it. The gap in the viewport you had created was small, and he shoved you through first. 

The world was bright white now, so different from the darkness of the ship, and your eyes struggled to adjust as the ground came up to meet you, barely feeling the pain of the impact as the cool air kissed your sweaty and damaged skin. You removed Ren’s mask from your head, adoring the feeling of the snow on your face, gulping down lungfuls of the clean air. A wave of vertigo overcame you as Ren hit the ground next to you, and you tried to stand up, struggling to keep your consciousness.

You could see the general running to your side, terror in his eyes, as a med team followed close behind. The medics lifted you off the ground and onto a stretcher, and you felt yourself losing awareness, but you clawed against it, desperately trying to stay awake. Ren's satchel cut into your shoulder as they moved you, the strap too weak to hold. You reached for it, but it ripped before you could grab it, the contents spilling out across the frigid ground. The last thing you saw before you lost consciousness was a handful of Galidraan pears spill into the snow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading everybody! I have a few announcements I want to make as well!
> 
> 1) Updates will not be coming as frequently as they have in the past, which sucks, but I feel like it's probably for the best. I've noticed a decline in the quality of my writing, and I think that I've been pushing myself to write faster than is good for me. I'll still update at least once every two weeks, but I don't think I'll be updating more than once a week anymore.
> 
> 2) I didn't plan this story out in advance. I've been working with smaller ideas that I had, and combining them into one story, and I've started to reach the point where I'm not really sure what is going to happen next. If there's anything you'd really like to see, please let me know! I would give credit for any suggestions I use!


	9. Medbay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is so ANGSTY, and it took me forever to write because I didn't want any of them to be sad! Also, the reader deals with some trauma from the crash. Let me know what you guys think :D

You opened your eyes to the bright, white space of the medbay, trying to remember what had put you there. Your body ached, your skin rough and dry against the crisp white sheets, and you heard the gentle beep of a monitor somewhere close by, keeping track of your vitals. The air smelled aseptic and a little stale, and you moved your hands to your face, feeling the oxygen mask placed over your mouth and nose. You ripped it off, breathing deeply. The skin of your face was blistered and raw, and breathing was agony, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to care. The memories of the crash came back in pieces: the smoke-filled corridor, Ren’s mask sitting in the co-pilot seat, the weight of his lightsaber in your hands. You remembered the vision of him, dim through the smoke and the helmet, reaching for you. The feeling of the fresh air in your lungs and snow on your skin. He had saved your life.

A med droid rolled into the room, interrupting your thoughts. “You are conscious,” it spoke mechanically, plugging into the monitor at your bedside to read your vitals, “that is very good news.”

“What about the commander?” you asked with little hope that it would answer; med droids were terrible sources of information, but you wanted to know if Ren was alright. More images flashed across your vision: the wound on his side, the blood dripping down the pilot’s chair, the general’s face as he ran to you, your vision dark around the edges. You tried to focus on that moment, but you couldn’t remember seeing Ren on the ground, couldn’t remember seeing him outside of the ship at all. You sat up quickly, turning to the droid.

“Commander Ren, is he alive?” you asked more forcefully this time, the pain in your throat like a blade, but the droid didn’t answer, instead pushing you back down onto the mattress.

“Your pulse is elevated. Please lay down while I administer a sedative.” The droid again attached itself to the monitors, ready to force you back to sleep, but you pushed against it, determined, terrified by the thought blacking out again. You forced the droid out of your way, ripping the various monitors from your hands and arms, sliding to your feet. The ground was cold and so was the air on the bruised skin running up your arms and legs. Someone had changed you into a med gown, which offered little in the way of coverage, but you had no time to worry about where to find fresh clothes as you raced to the door. The med droid followed, spouting a speech about remaining in bed, but you moved faster than it could, running down the unfamiliar halls. This was an area of the medbay you had never been before, and you sped past empty chamber after empty chamber, looking for Ren. _Or for his corpse_ , the thought hit you, unprompted, and you propelled yourself faster through the corridors.

He was in the last room at the end of the hallway, and you ran in as soon as you recognized him, forcing the door closed behind you. He sat up in the bed, startled but alive, bare from the waist up, the skin of his torso exposed. His body was flecked with scars, including the newly-healed gash on his side, the skin uneven and red, and the sight of it brought tears to your eyes. 

“You’re alive,” he spoke first, his voice hoarse from disuse or smoke inhalation, and you felt you should go to him, but you were frozen in place, barely able to stay upright.

“Because of you,” you replied, “we’re both alive.” You could feel tears slipping down your cheeks, the sting of them of your burns. His eyes widened, with panic or pain you weren’t sure, and he looked around the room frantically, but whatever he was searching for remained unfound. 

“The pears,” he said, his voice distraught, and you saw them again, the fruit he had brought at your request rolling out of the bag, scarlet against the white snow of Ilum where you had left them. He had almost died, and he was worried about the pears. A laugh ripped its way up your throat at the realization, echoing eerily off the sterile walls. You couldn’t stop it once it had started, the sound was pouring from you, unbridled, hysterical.

“I don’t care about the _fucking_ pears,” your voice was barely a whisper, and without warning, your knees gave out. You were on the ground, the weight of the crash finally overwhelming you, and your laughter turning to wild sobs, loud and ugly.

You hardly noticed the rustle of sheets and Ren’s soft footsteps as he approached you, reticent, like you would a wild animal, but he kneeled down next to you and rested a gentle hand on your shoulder. The gesture of comfort was tenuous and obviously foreign to Ren, but it grounded you, keeping you centered in the medbay instead of the smoke-filled corridor of the ship. You threw yourself into his arms, too frightened to be concerned with established boundaries, sobbing into his neck, in desperate need of something to hold. He didn’t respond at first, sitting so still you thought for a moment that his heart might have stopped, but you only clung to him tighter, and you felt his arms encircle you firmly; felt him nudge his face into your hair, his breathing labored and erratic.

He held you in the safety of his arms for what could have been hours, and slowly, the pain and the fear started to fade, swallowed up in the shelter he provided. Eventually your breathing slowed, and the tears stopped rolling down your cheeks, the skin of his neck moist against your face. A moment of clarity struck you, and you knew that you could never find the words to express your gratitude for what he had done.

“You don’t have to say it,” he spoke quietly, barely loud enough for you to hear, “I know.” You sunk into him, relieved. He had felt your gratitude in your thoughts, more powerful than words could possibly be. Exhaustion took over, and for a moment you thought you might fall asleep right there, curled up in him, sitting on the floor of the med bay.

“There you are!” the two of you were startled apart by the exclamation, apparently you had missed the sound of the door as it opened. An agitated looking medbay attendant had walked in, and he lifted you from the ground unceremoniously, holding you by the arm.

“What are you doing out of bed?” he said, turning a stern eye on Ren, who stood up off the floor. Ren was much taller than the attendant, and obviously not intimidated by his anger, but he climbed back onto the bed anyways, sitting on the edge with his feet dangling. He refused to look at you as he chewed on his lip, embarrassed—by the affection of the moment or by the interruption, you weren’t sure. The attendant nodded, appeased now that Ren was back on the bed. “The doctor will be in soon to check that wound, but for now, you need to lie down.” He turned to you, giving you a disapproving shake. “We’ve been looking everywhere for you, you know,” he said, his voice rich with dislike, “you can’t just run off like that. When the general saw that you were gone, he almost had a fit. Threatened to blast a perfectly good med droid until the captain stepped in.”

“The general?” He had come to see you? Images of him before the crash came to mind once again, the grip of his hand on your arm as you tried to run towards the ship, the pain in his eyes as the medics took you away. What had happened to him while you were unconscious?

“Yes, the general!” the attendant cried, pulling you towards the door and into the hallway, “he’s with Captain Phasma, and they’re waiting.” 

General Hux had not slept in three days. His focus had been shot to hell. Since the crash, he had pretended to be fine: had sat through his meetings, and worked on the bridge, filled his nights with menial tasks, but none of it had been enough to distract him from his worst and most dangerous thoughts. And now that he knew you were alive he thought he would be free of it, but the anxiety still plagued him as he stood in your room in the medbay.

“At least we know she’s not dead,” Phasma said. She was sitting in a chair, seemingly undisturbed by your disappearance, and just the sight of her looking so unbothered made Hux want to throw a punch at the wall.

“Alive and god knows where,” he muttered under his breath. Phasma didn’t deign to respond, but Hux wanted so badly to pick a fight with someone—anyone.

“Do you think these droids are programmed to understand threats?” He asked instead, walking over to the med droid, the one that had let you escape. It stood inactive in the corner, no patient to attend to, and Hux itched for a cigarette, but they had taken his pack when he had first arrived. They had taken his blaster, as well, after he had learned that you were missing.

“Leave the droid alone, general,” Phasma responded, but she wasn’t looking at him. Her eyes were on the door. Hux turned to it as well, and to his surprise, it opened. He watched as a med bay attendant dragged you through the entrance like a disobedient child, forced you into the bed and then hooked you back up to the monitor, which began beeping methodically in time with your heart.

“You have ten minutes,” he turned to Hux and Phasma, a warning look on his face, “and then the lieutenant needs to rest.” He moved to the door, and the med droid activated and followed behind, leaving the three of you alone.

Ribbons of pain shot up through Hux as he looked at you, but he forced himself to take it, his anger only growing. Your skin was raw and blistered in patches, which stretched over your cheeks and down your neck, along with a thick purple bruise around your throat. The clothing you had been wearing during the accident had protected most of you from the fire, but your arms and legs were mottled purple in places, and he could see your discomfort as you adjusted yourself on the mattress. Your eyes were swollen, but not from the burns; there were tear tracks on your face, glistening in the light.

“Good to see you, Lieutenant,” Phasma spoke first, her voice quiet to hide the emotion that the modulator could not disguise.

“Thank you, Captain,” you were hoarse, speaking barely above a whisper. You reached for her hand, and she gave it to you, grasping it tightly in your own. 

“Where were you?” Hux asked, and he could hear his own frustration. He knew it was selfish, still, he wanted to be the one that you reached for, wanted to offer you the protection and comfort that you obviously needed. But he was so _angry_. He thought that seeing you would take away the blaze burning inside of him, but instead it only increased. He could have prevented this, if only he had _held on_.

“I woke up. The med droid wouldn’t tell me where Ren was, and,” tears formed in the corners of your eyes as you spoke, “I thought he was dead.” _Ren._ Everything in Hux went quiet for a moment at the mention of his name, and then rage filled him, seeking to spill out.

“You went to see Ren,” his voice was a dangerous whisper, but it slowly grew louder, unrestrained, the loathing clear in every word, “when he’s the one who put you here?” You shrank back for a moment at the sound of his accusation, and then sat up, indignant.

“He saved my life! _I_ put me here,” your voice was still weak, breaking, but Hux felt your anger loudly, “If the commander hadn’t been there, if anyone else had been the one to crash that ship, I would be _dead._ ” You were crying again, the gentle flow of tears so at odds with your rage.

“How can you be so blind?” Hux was yelling now, too loud but unable to stop himself, ignoring Phasma as she placed a warning hand on his chest, “If that bastard hadn’t crashed his ship, you wouldn’t be here! And if you had _listened_ to me, this never would have happened!” He could feel himself deteriorating, the days of lost sleep catching him all at once. The strain of his worry, the weakness he had for you hit him head on and it was ruining him, turning him into something ugly and vile.

“You’re treating me like I’m an idiot, General! I knew the risks when I ran onto that ship. I was willing to give my life for a member of the Order. If anyone else had done what I did, they’d be getting a damn medal, and you’re here reprimanding me?” Your breathing was labored as you finished, but nothing about you appeared weak as you glared at him fiercely, and the look in your eyes . . .

Hux deflated at that look, his anger gone, the shame of his actions slamming into him. He stuttered incoherently, unable to respond, and you stared him down. He wanted to apologize but didn’t know how, your righteous anger creating a barrier between the two of you, his own guilt magnifying it, but you weren't finished.

"You're so full of shit. _A damn fine soldier,_ huh? Did you even believe it?" You were sobbing as you spoke, the only other sound coming from the monitor as it alarmed loudly and rapidly, ignorant of the scene that was unfolding. 

“What is going on here?” The same exasperated medbay attendant entered, moving to the monitor. He didn’t wait for an answer, and instead fiddled with the controls, dosing you with a sedative. Almost immediately your features relaxed, and you fell into the bed, unconscious.

Phasma grabbed Hux by the arm, pulling him from the room before the attendant could turn on them. He could feel her anger, but she said nothing, even as she forced him against the wall of the corridor. Hux breathed heavily, looking into her mask, his wild eyes reflecting back at him. He could feel himself unraveling, a lost, powerless feeling that he normally only felt around his father.

“You need to get your shit together,” Phasma spoke with barely-controlled rage, shoving him into the wall harshly before stalking off. He was alone, shaking, the weight of his actions too heavy, the look in your eyes before you fell unconscious seared into his brain. Hux took a steadying breath. He never lost control like that, and it would cost him dearly. He needed to fix it, needed to get his shit together, as Phasma had said. But there was something he wanted to do first.

Lying down on the medbay mattress, Ren tried very hard not to think of you. When you had left, dragged out of the room by the med bay attendant, he focused on committing the event to memory, but had been interrupted when the doctor came in. They had checked his wound and insisted that he remain overnight for further observation, leaving him alone again, hooked up to the monitor and his thoughts had drifted back to you.

Before today, thinking about touching you had been walking blind. He had no way to comprehend what it would be like to do so many of the things that he wanted to do: rest his hand against your cheek, or brush his fingers over the skin of your arm. And other things as well, thoughts that filled his chest with a white-hot thrill, but those were even more nebulous, almost painful to think about without a frame of reference.

And then you had thrown yourself into him and it was like he had developed another sense. The brush of your face against his neck, the strength of your arms pulling him closer, the firm press of your chest against him, it was all so new, so different. Just the thought of it had sent his heart into a frenzy, and the damned monitor had alerted the med droid, who came to his room to see if Ren needed to be sedated. Embarrassment had flooded him, and he had decided to avoid thinking about it anymore, nervous that another episode would send an attendant or doctor running into his room, speculating about what could be causing his hammering pulse.

But he couldn’t think of anything else. Every time he tried, he remembered something new about the experience; now, it was the skin of your legs, bruised but smooth over the corded muscles of your thighs, visible beneath the hem of your med gown. The heart monitor began to sound off more quickly, and Ren schooled his thoughts.

He sensed General Hux’s approach then, reaching out to see if any staff had been alerted by the monitor. The general was a little unhinged, and Ren could feel his anger from down the hallway. He wished he had his mask with him; Ren felt it gave him the upper hand in confrontations, not that he really needed it this time. Hux was obviously on the edge of some kind of breakdown, and Ren liked the idea of giving him a little push.

General Hux entered the room, looking like death. His face was gaunt, more so than usual, and the bags under his eyes were deep purple like a bruise, but he still managed to look down on Ren, even in his sorry state.

“You look like shit,” Ren said, hoping that starting with an insult would give him the high ground. The sooner this was over, the sooner Hux would leave him alone, and he could figure out what to do about the monitor. Hux rolled his eyes in response, an annoying habit that he normally kept under control.

“I’m not the one stuck in the med bay,” he paused for a moment, thinking, and then continued, “what happened?”

“I got shot.”

“No shit. _Why_ did you get shot?”

“Doesn’t matter. Why are you here?” Ren was tired of this conversation already. Hux hesitated, but Ren knew the answer to his own question, “You’ve come to harass me about the lieutenant?” He saw the general’s jaw tighten in annoyance.

“I’ve actually come to strike a bargain. I think it would be in the lieutenant’s best interest if you stayed away from her.” Hux tried to appear nonchalant, but the act was not convincing.

“What could you possibly offer me, general?” Ren sneered at the suggestion, and Hux smiled, the look disconcerting on his haggard face.

“I’ll bring your Knights back.” 

Ren paused, blindsided. He had never expected Hux to make that offer and for a moment he wasn’t sure what to do. The Knights of Ren had been gone for months now, on a secret assignment from the general for the benefit of the First Order. Or, at least, that was what Hux had told the Supreme Leader, not that he cared, but Ren knew the real reason Hux had sent them away. It was to punish him, to hold their return over his head as a bribe.

“I’m prepared to send for them today, if you agree to keep your distance from the lieutenant,” Hux continued, and Ren could feel the self-satisfaction rolling off of him _._ Anger swelled inside Ren, and he tried to hold it back, but it was no use. He latched onto the general’s mind, searching for something he could use against him. Hux’s thoughts of you appeared before Ren, and he rifled through them greedily. _So many to choose from._

“I don’t think I’ll be taking that bargain, General. From what I can tell, you don’t have to concern yourself with the lieutenant anymore; she hates you. It’s right here.“ He lingered on the memory, forcing Hux to relive it as well. Your face twisted in anger, tears running freely as you screamed. Satisfied, Ren released Hux, and the general stumbled, his eyes shut tightly against the lights. “Soon, I’ll have my Knights back, and the lieutenant by my side, and you will have _nothing._ ” The general stood up straighter, eyes opened, full of loathing, but no trace of defeat. 

“You should have taken the offer, Ren. I’m no longer willing to bargain, so now I’ll have to resort to an ultimatum. If you don’t leave her alone, I’ll be forced to tell her the truth about you, about your threats against me . . . and others.”

Damnit. He knew about Mitaka. It had been a moment of weakness for Ren, a moment that felt so long ago now. After he had left your quarters, alerting you to his absence from the ship for his mission from Snoke, he had been trying to decipher the nature of your meeting with the general that night, trying to find a solution that didn’t make his blood boil. Mitaka had been there, out in the hallway, headed to see you and . . . 

“You saw how she reacted when I tried to protect her, and that was to save her life. How do you think she would respond if she knew that you were threatening her closest friend?” Hux spoke disinterestedly, still so sure of himself. The sight of him so proud made Ren want to lash out, and he searched for a way to hurt him.

“Whatever you accuse me of, I could just as easily make similar claims,” Ren drove his point home, forcing the general to recall some of his more provocative daydreams, disgusted by all the ways Hux had thought about putting his hands on you. Ren could feel as Hux’s heart started to race, the images forcing a crack into the general’s cold exterior. He reeled against Ren’s power, trying to stop him.

“I’m well aware of my own thoughts, Ren,” Hux spat, “and . . . it would not be ideal if the lieutenant knew about them.” He was panting heavily, the shame of his desires and his fear at the idea of your involvement overcoming him. The two men stared at each other, full of hatred, but unsure what to do.

“Where does that leave us, then?” Ren asked. His fatigue was overpowering, the exertion of using the force against Hux and recovery from the crash had taken away all of his energy. The freshly healed wound on his side was aching, and he thought about your hands, the idea of them ghosting over the skin of his abdomen, your gentle touch alleviating some of his pain.

“I believe we’ve arrived at a stalemate,” Hux spoke with distaste, but it was dampened by his obvious exhaustion. Ren took little satisfaction in how pathetic the general looked, knowing that he was probably in worse shape.

“Fine,” Ren tried to put some venom behind his words, but they came out weak, almost defeated, so he continued, hoping to cause Hux at least a little more pain, “but I’ve seen her mind. She’ll choose me.”

“I wouldn’t count on it,” Hux said apathetically, heading to the door. He brought a memory to the front of his mind, and Ren grabbed it in spite of himself. He saw you, from the general’s perspective, in the ballroom of the _Supremacy_. You were radiant, descending from the top of the stairs like a goddess and you turned to smile at the general, looking at him like he was the one who placed all the stars in the sky.

Hux left the room, and the image of you went with him, the lights of the medbay dim in comparison. The memory of you that the general had shared left Ren a little demoralized, and he laid down, feeling weak and shameful, but the thought of you in his arms appeared to him, unprompted. He could almost feel you against him, the warmth of your skin taking the place of so much pain. You would choose him, he was sure of it. Ren surrendered to his drowsiness, his final thoughts only of you.


	10. Promotion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everybody! Just a few things before you read the chapter :)  
> 1) I'm wondering how we all feel about chapter length. I try to write between 2000 -3000 words for each chapter, but the last one was much longer, around 4000 words. Is that too long? What's a good length for y'all?  
> 2) I created a tumblr 😊 If you'd like to follow me there, it's starlightsearches. I will follow back!  
> 3) I think that I am going to start taking requests for one-shots and head cannons on tumblr that I will also post here as well. Is that something that you guys would be interested in?
> 
> And that's it! Let me know what you guys think of this one!!

As General Hux walked to his meeting with the Supreme Leader, he focused on clearing his mind, forcefully ridding himself of the unease that had plagued him since that day in the medbay. After his conversation with Ren, he had gone to the bridge and passed control over to Mitaka with the message that he was not to be disturbed. He awoke the next day bleary-eyed, still in his uniform, hungover off a now-empty bottle of whiskey and a deep shame curdling in his stomach. _Shit_.

Lucky for the general, he was skilled in damage control, having worked with Ren for so long. He had immediately gone to talk to Phasma, who forgave him readily, after he promised that he would stop being, in her words, _such a little bitch_. They had fallen back into an easy routine, and Phasma had not mentioned it again. Unfortunately, it had not been so easy to get back on good terms with you.

They had not let him back into the medbay. The doctor had been adamant that you needed to rest, but he had a sneaking suspicion that they were worried about him starting another shouting match. Hux was trying to be on his best behavior, and so he had left and not returned, but now a week had passed and he still hadn’t spoken to you. You had been released from care, he knew that much, although you hadn’t been approved for regular duty. He told himself that he had no need to worry, that he had not sought you out yet because he wanted his apology to be perfect. But what if you didn’t forgive him? Or worse, what if you wouldn’t give him the chance to apologize at all?

A squeezing sensation wrapped around the general’s heart, and he forced himself to let go of that fear, and any other thoughts that could be used against him, as he reached the meeting room. No meeting with the Supreme Leader could be called routine, but at least Hux knew why he had been summoned this time. He made his report succinctly, explaining the damage that had been done to Starkiller Base in the crash (minimal), the number of assets lost (one ship), and number of casualties (none). 

“And the lieutenant?” Snoke asked, the first words he had spoken since the general had entered the room. Hux forced himself to keep calm, restraining the emotions that were threatening to break down the walls he had put up before the meeting began.

“What about her, sir?” Hux was trying to stay calm, but Snoke’s interest in you was laced with danger. Snoke leaned forward, coming closer to Hux, looming, his massive form filling the room.

“What about her?” He laughed, a singular, sharp sound and Hux squeezed his fists tighter to avoid flinching, “She ran into the wreckage and managed to live, obviously very brave. But I want to know how you find her, General, since you have such _astute_ observational skills.” Snoke laughed again at Hux’s expense, sitting back in the throne.

“The lieutenant is an excellent soldier. Highly skilled in combat, an exceptional strategist, and loyal to the Order,” Hux responded, ignoring the insult. Snoke sneered at him.

“Honestly, General, your lust for her is unmistakable, even though you try to hide it. What would your father say? _Pathetic_.” Hux stood his ground but refused to speak, keeping his face an impassive mask as Snoke berated him.

“I’d like to meet her,” he continued, and an icicle of fear pierced Hux through the heart.

“Now, sir?” His pulse was rapid, and he knew that Snoke had sensed it. He had hoped to protect you from all of this, but there was no way for him to refuse the Supreme Leader without drawing more attention to his weakness for you. 

“Yes, now. Go find her. I’ll be waiting,” Snoke narrowed his eyes, and Hux turned to leave, hoping it would be a long time before he found you.

The burn in your lungs was a good one, familiar, this time. It had been too long since your last run, and the sheer joy of it struck your chest as you pushed yourself to move faster, pumping your arms more vigorously and leaning into your momentum. The finish line was in sight, and you felt the strain in your muscles as you willed yourself over it, only slowing once you had reached your goal. Mitaka was already there—he had always been a better runner than you—and you stopped, checking your time and feeling the pulse point at your neck as the blood rushed through your veins.

“Damn, a whole minute slower than my usual,” you spoke more to yourself than to Mitaka, annoyed that more than just memories of the crash were still holding you back. Kendale staggered over the finish line then, breathing heavily and clutching her side. She had agreed to come with you as moral support for your first run since the accident, but she was not used to the same rigorous training, and it showed. She hobbled over to you and Mitaka, fanning herself with both hands.

“I thought you were supposed to be taking it easy,” she said, pointing an accusatory finger at you, her panting punctuating each word.

“This is me taking it easy,” you laughed, nudging her in the side, and Mitaka threw his arm over your shoulder in a sweaty embrace. Your heart swelled; after staying in the medbay with only a few attendants and a med droid for company, being with your friends again was wonderful, the most normal moment you had experienced in a while. But normal didn’t last, and your expression darkened, thoughts of the crash always at the back of your mind.

“Seriously, though,” Mitaka said with concern, “how are you feeling?” You fidgeted under their gaze—his and Kendale’s—hating the sting of tears that materialized so easily lately.

“I’m alright, Doe,” you told him, shrugging out of his grasp. Maybe saying it often enough would make it true, but the heavy feeling in the pit of your stomach confirmed that you were still very much not okay.  
“Have you . . . talked to the general yet?” Kendale asked in a whisper, looking around to make sure no one overheard your conversation. You had told both of them what had happened, with Hux and with Ren—or at least a heavily edited version of what had happened—as soon as you had been released back to your quarters. They had wanted to know about the crash, but you couldn’t explain it, didn’t have the power to put it into words, and so you had told them about the conflict in the medbay instead.

“No,” your reply came out like a sigh. You had talked back to one of your superiors, _screamed_ at him, and you knew that even though you were right, it hadn’t been justified. You spent the first few days in the medbay out of your mind, terrified that the general would come in and have you removed from the ship, fired for insubordination. 

“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” Mitaka said, as he gathered his things, but you could always tell when he was lying. You wanted him to be right, but couldn’t stand the idea of getting your hopes up.

“You weren’t there to see it, Doe; I was awful to him. And the general is not a forgiving man.” Neither of them argued with you, and the sinking feeling inside of you intensified. 

You said goodbye to them as they left to get ready for their shifts, looking forward to a shower and some fresh clothes after your workout. And maybe a nap. You had only been awake for a few hours but you could feel yourself getting sleepy, your body still in the process of healing. Every hint of exhaustion disappeared and replaced itself with panic, however, as soon as you recognized the general waiting outside the door to your quarters.

“Lieutenant,” General Hux addressed you as you walked up to him, “your presence has been requested.” You couldn’t detect any outright anger in his voice, but there was an icy formality in the way he spoke. _Shit_. So you were going to get fired. He had just waited until you were out of the medbay to do it.

“Of course, General . . . Could I change first?” It seemed like a long shot, but you didn’t want to go into your termination meeting still sweaty from your run. Being let go was shameful enough already.

“Unfortunately, we don’t have time. The Supreme Leader is waiting.” You felt the blood rush from your face, and your knees threatened to buckle. Hux grabbed you by the elbow to steady you, the mask of indifference slipping for only a moment as you righted yourself.

“What?” Your head was reeling, and your heart beat thudded heavily in your chest. “What does he want with me?”

“I’m not sure, Lieutenant,” Hux responded, looking nervous. _Fuck_. You had never seen him look this anxious before, and the idea of him not knowing something had always been an impossibility. Hux hesitated to speak, looking worried that you might fall over again. “It’s best not to keep him waiting,” he spoke quietly, and once he was sure that you wouldn’t faint, he began walking down the hallway, waiting for you to follow. You walked closely behind, your mind in chaos. 

If you were being taken to Snoke, were you still being dismissed? The Supreme Leader didn’t usually involve himself in petty complaints like this, rarely involved himself at all in terms of how the _Finalizer_ was run, as far as you knew. So why would he want to see you? Only the most terrible explanations came to mind: you were being questioned, they suspected you were a spy, you would be tortured for information. You fretted as you walked, so focused on figuring out why you were needed that you didn’t notice that Hux had stopped a few paces behind you.

“What is it?” you asked, turning to him.

“Lieutenant, I-” Hux was not making eye contact with you, and you watched the fingers of his right hand beat rapidly against his thigh. Everything about him right now made you nervous, the additional anxiety only worsening your growing panic. He reached for you then, grabbing you by the hand, and pulling you into a nearby alcove.

The space was compact, sheltered from the hallway, and although there was still a small distance between you and him, the privacy of the area made it feel as if you were closer. You noticed the pale freckles dotting his cheeks, a little at odds with the sharp angles of his face. Hux cleared his throat, and you forced yourself to look him in the eyes, hoping he couldn’t read your thoughts in your expression.

“I know that this isn’t ideal timing, Lieutenant, so I’ll be prompt. I wanted to apologize for my behavior.” He looked at you steadily, but you could still see his hand out of the corner of your eye, drumming away at his leg. An apology? You had not expected it, had not really wanted one. Any anger you had felt towards him was long gone, and a sick guilt came over you in response. 

“You don’t have to apologize to me, General. It was a heated moment, and really I am the one who should be sorry-” he cut you off with a gently-raised hand before you could finish.

“Please, Lieutenant, let me do this. My behavior in the medbay was unacceptable, but more importantly, I was wrong to question your judgement,” he paused to take a breath, and his eyes found yours again, his gaze so piercing that it stopped the breath in your lungs. “What you did, running into the ship, saving Ren, was very brave. Probably one the bravest things I’ve ever seen. I’m sorry that I doubted you.” You wanted to respond but didn’t know how, the sea-glass color of his eyes holding your brain hostage, scrambling any coherent thoughts you might have had.

“It’s just-” he continued, speaking haltingly now, the honesty of his confession clearly painful for him, “I am not a well-liked man. Respected, of course, but not admired. I’m sure that many members of the Order, and the crew here, would be glad to see me dead. There are not many people that I can trust, and your loyalty to me—to this organization, I mean—is invaluable . . . and I would hate to think that I had lost it.” He looked away from you then, breaking eye contact and allowing you to breathe. Instinctively, you reached forward, stopping the restless twitch of his hand with your own, the leather of his glove smooth against your fingers.

“Thank you for your apology, General,” your voice was heavy, and you lifted your free hand to your face, finding tears coating your cheeks. You released Hux’s hand and wiped the tears away, embarrassed. “And I’m sorry that I yelled at you,” you said, laughing self-consciously at your own apology, which felt terribly inadequate after everything that he had said. The general laughed too, quietly, a soft smile on his face. The display of happiness, small as it was, changed him, made him look like a different person, and for a moment you forgot about the fear that had been plaguing you.

“We should go,” he said, and you nodded, feeling a little more optimistic now. You followed him down the hallway once again and prepared to face the Supreme Leader.

Ren waited outside of the meeting room, trying to make sense of the information he had just been given. He couldn’t, and he sincerely hoped that Hux hadn’t been able to find you, that you would be held off from the meeting for a little longer while he came up with a solution to this new problem.

Unfortunately, he sensed that your presence was close, and the general’s as well. Ren faltered, hoping you wouldn’t notice the fear on him. Or embarrassment: he hadn’t seen you since that day in the medbay, and even though he had been released first—had thought about you every day since—he had not tried to visit. Things might be different now between you, after all that had happened. Maybe you would stop filling with dread at the sight of him . . . but he didn’t want to know for sure. Not that it mattered, any chance he had would be shot to shit once Snoke took you away.

You appeared around the corner, and Ren could tell that neither of you felt as nervous as he did, which meant that Hux didn’t know the truth about you either. The general seemed a little too happy for Ren’s liking, and the two of you looked amicable. Apparently you had forgiven him already. Ren watched as Hux’s happiness was replaced with annoyance as soon as the two men made eye contact.

“What are you doing here?” Hux spoke with barely-concealed contempt, and for Ren the feeling was mutual.

“The Supreme Leader requested my presence. I’ve been waiting for both of you to arrive.” Hux ignored Ren’s reply, and instead turned to you, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder.

“It will be alright,” he said to you softly, like he knew what he was talking about. Hux walked through the open door first, shooting a smug look at Ren but leaving the two of you alone in the hallway for a moment. You reached out to Ren, no longer afraid—even though he wore the mask—and brushed the back of your hand against his in greeting. The simple touch sent sparks over Ren’s skin, and his mouth went dry.

“Are you okay?” You looked up at him through your lashes, a little shy, and he nodded in response, compelled to lie if it might make you happy. A smile broke on your face, and Ren could not think of a person he wouldn’t ruin to keep it there.

You removed your hand from his and walked through the doorway, determined, and an overwhelming sorrow filled Ren again. He was out of time. You bowed to the Supreme Leader, and Ren came to stand at your left, on the opposite side from the general. Snoke overshadowed the three of you, towering all the way to the ceiling, intimidating even through the holo projector.

“Greetings, Lieutenant,” Snoke addressed you, and Ren could feel your apprehension intensify. 

“Supreme Leader, it is an honor,” you inclined your head, avoiding eye contact, properly humble, but your voice was clear and strong as you spoke.

“Do you know why you are here, Lieutenant?” Snoke didn’t wait for an answer, he could feel it in your thoughts that you didn’t, “I wanted to personally commend you for your bravery. You saved the life of my most formidable apprentice in an act of incredible valor, and the First Order owes you its gratitude.” Ren could feel it as Hux mentally rolled his eyes; apparently he didn’t agree with Snoke’s claims about Ren’s importance.

“Thank you, sir,” you responded.

“Bravery is an important quality in any soldier, but loyalty,” Snoke paused, gauging the effect of his words, and Ren sensed Hux stiffen at the memory brought forward: his apology to you in the hallway, only moments ago. “Loyalty,” Snoke continued, “is very rare indeed. I sense your loyalty to the Order. I’d like to reward you for that loyalty, Lieutenant, with a promotion.” Ren furrowed his brow in confusion—this was not what he had expected. “General Hux has refused to pick a second-in-command, and so I will choose one for him. Congratulations, Lieutenant General. I hope you do not disappoint me.”

“I’m honored, sir,” you saluted Snoke, a stunned expression on your face, but your thoughts were exploding with pride, and Hux, too, was over the moon. Ren could hardly believe what he had just heard. _This doesn’t make any sense._ How would you work as the second-in-command if . . .

“There’s one more thing we need to discuss,” Snoke said, and Ren felt a rolling dread crash into him. It was time for the truth to come out.

“How long have you known that you are force-sensitive?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I'm going to try to update on Wednesdays from now on. Let me know what you thought of this one, I love reading your comments!


	11. Teacher

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, you guys are awesome! I'm so grateful for the support I'm getting on this. Seriously, you guys are the best, let me know what you think of this chapter!

All the air rushed out of Hux’s lungs. _Force-sensitive._ How had he not known? You seemed frozen, terrified, but not entirely surprised. Why hadn’t you said something to him? Hux looked to Ren. If he was surprised it was well hidden, but something about his reaction, or lack thereof, made Hux think that Ren had already known. Had you told him? Had he told Snoke?

Would they take you away from him?

“I didn’t know, sir,” you spoke so quietly that Hux had to strain to hear you, “It was only a suspicion, really . . . my mother told me when I was very young, but I never believed her.”

“The Allegiant General’s wife?” Snoke asked, and you flinched, never having experienced Snoke’s ability to pull delicate information from unguarded minds. Ren looked to you, face hidden behind the mask; apparently that was one secret he had not yet picked up on. 

“No sir, not her. My birth mother was the one who told me.”

“And didn’t you believe her?” Snoke saw your discomfort but was toying with you anyways, plainly enjoying your fear.

“She told me many things just before she died, but she was very sick and . . .” You were trying not to cry, your face crumpled with grief, but no tears spilled from your eyes. Not for the first time, Hux wished he could rip the Supreme Leader’s body from his head, and his hand itched for his blaster.

“I see your thoughts, Lieutenant General, and you need not worry. I do not plan to remove you from your position here on the _Finalizer_ , yet. It is obvious to me that you are of very middling talent when it comes to the ways of the force, certainly not worth my time. But even a dull blade can turn lethal if sharpened properly. Ren will train you.” Hux looked to Ren again, who was very obviously surprised by this decision. Had he thought that Snoke would take you too? A million questions traveled around in Hux's mind, but he wasn’t sure if he wanted to know any of the answers.

“You may leave now, Lieutenant,” Snoke dismissed you, and you bowed again, walking swiftly to the door which closed behind you. Hux felt he should be grateful; he had expected worse, but a nervous buzzing was alive in his stomach at Snoke’s apparent generosity, and Ren seemed equally uneasy, shifting his weight from side to side.

“Honestly, I’m disappointed in both you. You’ve allowed yourselves to be seduced by this insignificant girl. However, I do not believe that she will prove entirely worthless. Make no mistake, I have allowed her to stay in your possession only because I believe she could be of use to me in the future.”

He paused, leaning in and speaking slowly with unmitigated venom, “But I must warn you both. If either of you disappoint me, or if I believe even for a moment that her presence here has caused you to lose sight of our purpose, I will not hesitate to have her eliminated. Do I make myself clear?”

You flopped onto your new bed, trying to appreciate what felt like the first moment you had alone for the last few days. After the meeting with Snoke, there had been a flurry of tasks that had taken up all of your attention: debriefings, finding and training your replacement for Captain Phasma, fittings for your new uniform, and just barely, the process of moving into your new quarters, which were much larger, and to your surprise, featured a bathtub _almost_ as big as the general’s, and your very own viewport. Next week, the First Order was throwing a party in your honor where you would officially accept your promotion in front of the Directorate and other First Order members. Unease filled your stomach every time you thought about it, and you tried to remind yourself that this is what you had always wanted. You believed that you might have been able to achieve it in five, maybe ten years, if you worked hard. Having it now was literally a dream come true. So why did you feel this empty?

Too many questions had been left unanswered, and try as you might, you had not been able to puzzle out the true reason for your promotion. Snoke may have rewarded you for your loyalty, but there was something suspicious about his benevolence. You couldn’t help but feel overwhelmed and underprepared, and while many of the other officers aboard the _Finalizer_ had congratulated you, it was evident in their faces—when they thought that you weren’t looking, of course—that they did not believe it had been deserved.

And then there was the force. Even thinking about it made you a little sick, guilt and skepticism colliding in your stomach. How could it be possible that you had access to one of the greatest powers in the universe without knowing? But, at the same time, why would Snoke lie? There was something being kept from you, some information that was just outside of your reach that would help all of this make sense, but you didn’t even know where to look. Frustration took over, and you pressed the heels of your hands into your eyes, bright white spots forming in your vision from the pressure.

The door sensor beeped, alerting you to a guest, and you reached for your data pad to see who was there. The screen blinked to life, and you could see Ren standing outside of your quarters. Part of you wanted to send him away, tell him some lie or feign sleep, believing that it was possible you could figure out these problems on your own. Another part of you—a quieter, smarter voice—knew that if you were going to find any answers, you would need some help. You accepted the alert, and Ren stepped in through the doorway.

“Evening, Lieutenant General,” he said in greeting; the title still sounded strange in your ears, no matter how many times you had heard it.

“Evening, Commander,” you replied, sitting up on your bed and tucking one leg in, “or should I call you something else now . . . because of the training?” 

“Commander is fine,” he removed his helmet and gloves, setting them down on a table by one of your new couches, running a nervous hand through his hair, “Or Ren, if that’s alright with you.” 

“Come, sit,” you patted the space next to you on the edge of the bed, and he hesitated. You knew that it was inappropriate to be so uninhibited, so casual, especially with someone as powerful as Ren, but if you spent all your time being reticent around, him you wouldn’t get anything that you wanted. Ren came to sit by you on the bed, a little ways away, very proper. He wasn’t looking at you. You sat silently for a moment, watching him, unsure what to do next.

“Do you like your new quarters?” he broke the silence first, looking up at you and then immediately changing his mind. He was so withdrawn, and you wished you could be back in the medbay, where everything had felt so easy. So safe. You wanted to be close to him again. 

“They’re much nicer than I’m used to,” you responded, looking around the room.

“I thought you might be used to luxury,” he said, “being raised by the Allegiant General.” He gave you a sideways glance, hoping to gauge your reaction to his knowledge of your secret, but it didn’t bother you that he knew. If Snoke hadn’t revealed it, you probably would have told him yourself.

“I haven’t lived in the Pryde estate since I went to the Academy, and there was little luxury there,” you spoke with too much bitterness, flopping back on your bed with a little bounce. 

He stiffened, the movement so small that it was almost imperceptible. Feelings of guilt swam through your mind, and you sat up, gently placing a hand over his, which was resting on his thigh. “I’m sorry, I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.” He made no move to disconnect your hands, but looked up at the ceiling, perplexed.

“You’re not afraid of me anymore,” it was a statement, not a question, but you could still see a hint of curiosity in his face.

“You saved my life, Ren.” He didn’t respond, only stared down at your hand on his lap. Maybe you should be scared of him. The infamous Kylo Ren—it would be smart to be afraid, like everyone else was. But being with him now, you didn’t see him that way anymore. All you could see was the man who had given you his helmet to save you from a fire, the man who held you in his arms when you were on a ledge, about to fall into something yawning and cavernous and too tragic to name. All you could see was the face of the man who had saved your life.

“Can I ask you something?” you said, and he nodded, “did you know . . . about me?”

“No,” his voice was hoarse when he spoke.

“How is that possible?”

“I’m-I’m not sure.”

“Are you telling me the truth?” You increased the pressure of your hand on his, not trying to hurt him, but hoping that he could feel the seriousness of your question.

“ _Of course_ ,” he said, finally turning to face you, his face devoid of anger, but full of something else that you couldn’t understand.

“I’m not trying to accuse you of anything, but I feel like there’s so much that I don’t know, and I need someone I can trust.” It was your turn to look away now, biting your lip as you thought. “You can read my mind, my feelings. I can’t do any of that, or at least, I can’t do any of that, _yet_. I need you to promise that you won’t keep things from me. I need . . . a friend.” He didn’t speak for a moment, but reached for your face, turning your eyes back to his, gently, with the tips of his fingers. His hand only lingered for a moment, but the contact seared into you, the nerves under your skin alight from the touch.

“You can trust me.” You didn’t have to ask yourself if you believed him.

“Good, because I have a lot of questions.”

Ren was an interesting teacher. He paced as he talked, gesturing, eyes wandering around the room—unless he was making a point, and then he would look at you with such focus and intensity that it almost became hard to listen.

“How old were you,” you were asking questions rapid-fire, “when you first knew that you had it?” The question stopped him in his tracks. He moved to the edge of the room, looking thoughtful and a little sad as he stared out of the viewport.

“I was seven,” he spoke quietly, and you stood off the bed, moving closer to him so that you could hear, “my mother had it, and she knew what to look for; a few years later they sent me away so that someone could train me.” You didn’t question any further, seeing that he was troubled when talking about his family. That was something that you could understand.

“I was four when my mother died,” you responded in kind, staring into the massive whirl of stars outside your viewport, “and my father died when I was five. That’s when the Prydes took me in.” You looked over to him, and he met your gaze, “if _they_ knew, they never told me.”

“If you’re not sure what to look for, it can be easy to excuse what you feel.” He spoke calmly, but you were gripped with annoyance, finally getting answers, but not quickly enough. You walked away from him, frustrated, pacing as he watched.

“How did Snoke find out about me?”

“He saw my thoughts, the ones from the crash, and then wanted to meet with you to make sure.”

“But what did he _see_? What did he see that would make him think that I was connected to the force?”

“He said,” Ren hesitated, but decided to continue, “he said that you probably found me using the force, and that you used it to wake me.”

“I punched you across the face, Ren.”

“Maybe that was how you channeled the power, but think about it,” he moved close to you, toe to toe. You were both wild, both united in your search for something real, “I was dead, or almost dead from blood loss alone. Do you think a slap across the face would really have been enough to revive me?” He gripped you hard by the shoulders, holding you steady.

“Think back,” he said, “what did you _feel_ in that hallway?” 

“I was terrified. But determined, too-” He cut you off with a little shake, the contact intense but not uncomfortable.

“You're blocking yourself from the pain of it. You won’t find what you’re looking for if you restrain the memory. You need to go back. Go back to the ship.”

Fear gripped you at the thought of being there again, but you closed your eyes anyways, trying to find the memory buried deep in the back of your mind. He was there with you in your head, his presence gentle but not invisible, grounding you to a safe place. You could feel it all, distant but real: the darkness of the hallway, the heat of the fire, the smell of the smoke . . . and something else.

“ _There_ ,” he said it with reverence, and you began to feel it too, a well of power that had always sat on the periphery of your mind, nameless, unrecognizable before now. 

“That’s the force?” you were breathless, awestruck. And now that you felt it, you could see it all over, small bursts of power that had aided you in so many ways: your sparring match with Hux, your training session with Ren, and aboard the crashed ship, fighting for your survival. It was better than any high you had ever experienced, the power you had searched for all your life, in all your training. You pulled him closer, forcing him to look you in the eyes again, filled with a yearning for more of it.

“I need you to teach me everything you know.” 

General Hux walked down the hallway furtively, trying to keep his coat from meowing. He felt rather foolish, peeking around every corner, constantly checking behind his back, as he had yet to come up with an excuse for his behavior if he ran into anyone. These corridors were not well-traveled, but one could never be too careful.

Last night, he had tossed and turned after he had gone to bed. He had seen Ren leaving your room on the security footage (not spying of course, he often checked the cams before falling asleep) and it had left him feeling restless. Late into the night, he felt he had come up with the perfect plan to spend some time alone with you, but now, with Millie’s claws digging into his side, he was a little less sure of himself. _It’s not too late to turn back_ , he thought, but his feet carried him forward anyways, and he stopped outside the door of your new quarters, waiting.

The door slid open, and Hux went inside, finding you on the couch. You were dressed in leisure wear, shorts and a tank top, curled up, watching some holo-show he had never seen before, which you paused. 

“Evening, General,” you said, sitting up with your legs on the couch, your hands folded under your knees, holding yourself together. Your face was bare, your hair swept up on top of your head, and it made you seem younger, incredibly vulnerable. More like a girl and less like a soldier. Hux found it a little unnerving. 

“Evening, Lieutenant, I brought you a little surprise,” Millie was struggling harder now, tired of being trapped in the darkness of his jacket. Hux let go, and she landed on the floor, examining her surroundings before trotting over to you and jumping on the couch. You smiled, picking her up gingerly and setting her on your lap.

“Baby,” you cooed at her, scratching her gently around the collar as she nudged her face into your neck. _That damn cat._ Hux moved closer to the couch, trying very hard to seem at ease. You gestured for him to take a seat, which he did, and you continued to shower Millie with kisses, murmuring unintelligibly in a high-pitched voice.

“She’s been inconsolable since you last came to visit,” Hux said, “terribly restless. This was a bit of a last resort.”

“ _Awww, did the little baby miss me_ ,” you addressed Millie first, and then Hux, “Sounds like she’s my cat now, since she wanted to see me so badly,” you teased, shooting him a smile.

“Unacceptable, we’ll have to share her.”

“Joint custody, huh? I can live with that,” you turned Millie around to face him, holding her like a baby, “do you think we’d make good parents, Millicent?” _Bloody hell_. If you kept talking this way he was sure to do something he’d regret.

“No one saw you in the dining area today,” Hux said, changing the subject, “or for the last few days.”

You paused before responding, a delicate sorrow drifting over your face like a veil. “It’s a bit crowded in there.” You petted Millie absentmindedly, avoiding eye contact.

“Have you been eating?”

“Sometimes,” he could tell you were trying to hide your grief from him, but he saw it all, the force of it striking him in the chest. 

“Come with me,” he stood, offering you his hand.

You carried Millie as the two of you walked, and Hux’s nerves increased ten-fold as he led you back to his quarters. You hadn’t changed, and he hadn’t suggested it, but he couldn’t help but wonder what someone might think if they saw you with him this late in the evening, headed to his quarters. In your pajamas. Carrying his cat.

Luckily, the time it took to get back to his rooms was much shorter now that you had moved, and the corridors were empty due to the late hour. The two of you entered his chambers, the smell of garlic and thyme and a few other spices greeting you.

“I didn’t know you could cook, General,” you said, setting Millicent on the ground and wandering over to the food prep area, looking at the different pots and pans simmering. Hux could feel a blush rise on his cheeks, and he hoped you wouldn’t notice.

“There are probably a lot of things that you don’t know about me, Lieutenant,” he responded, joking of course, removing his coat and walking to the stove, checking the food so that he wouldn’t have to see you looking at him.

“Alright then, tell me something I don’t know.” You hopped onto the counter beside him, your face level with his. _I’d kiss you right now if I didn’t think it would ruin everything_. Honestly, could he be more of a prick? You were obviously distraught and all he could think about was his own puerile wants. Hux bit the inside of his cheek to avoid speaking rashly.

“When I was first promoted,” he began, pretending he couldn’t feel your eyes on him, the power of your gaze setting him alight in the best kind of way, “most people did not believe that I deserved it. There were many who questioned my ability to lead.”

You scoffed skeptically. “Okay,” you said, laughing a little and he looked up at you. When you saw that he was serious, you stopped, confused. “You’re lying, General,” you continued, counting off on your fingers all the reasons you didn’t believe him. “Admiral Rae Sloane _personally_ mentored you! You revolutionized the Storm Trooper program! Your father was one of the founding members of this organization, and I hear that you’re an excellent sniper, one of the best, inside or out of the Order.” You stopped then, covering your hand with your mouth like you just divulged a secret, a blush rising to your cheeks.

“Who told you that?” Hux’s heart was hammering, hearing you speak about him this way was making him a little dizzy, and it was getting harder to stop himself from saying something stupid. _I think about you all the time, do you think of me?_

“Phasma may have mentioned it,” you said casually, and he made a mental note to thank her later, “and the rest is common knowledge. I make it a point to stay informed.” You nudged his shoulder with yours, and then hopped off the counter, finding a seat at the dining table as he carried over a plate for you. He did not make a plate for himself, instead pouring two glasses of wine and giving you one.

“My father was the reason so many people doubted me,” Hux said, taking a seat across from you, “he didn’t think very much of me. Hated me, honestly. He was very influential, and others in the Order were inclined to agree with his assessment. If it weren’t for Sloane, I . . . I probably wouldn’t be here.” You nodded solemnly, pushing the food around on your plate before taking a bite. He watched for your reaction, and your head rolled back in delight.

"This is _really_ good," you said, and Hux stifled a small smile. _I'd give anything to hear you compliment me again._

“What I’m trying to say is,” Hux continued, satisfied that you liked the food, “don’t worry about what the others might think.” You paused for a moment, chewing slowly before you swallowed, looking up at him.

“Why did Snoke give me this promotion?” you asked quietly. Your eyes were on him, and he tried to think of a satisfactory response. He knew he couldn’t lie, you would see it, but the truth wasn’t really an option either.

“I’m not entirely sure,” he began, choosing his words carefully, “but the Supreme Leader is someone who likes to have leverage over those around him. He might hope to use your presence against me, or Ren.”

“Why would he do that?” Confusion etched lines into your forehead, and Hux's heartbeat was rapid, treading carefully around the truth.

“There are many reasons why he might want to punish either of us-”

“No,” you interrupted, “I mean why would he use _me_?” _Because I’m in love with you_. You really didn’t know, couldn’t see what Hux felt was so obvious, his desire for you marking every interaction, coloring his world in shades of longing.

“I meant what I said in the hallway, Lieutenant. I trust you. You matter to me, and I’d like to think that we’re . . . friends.” He swallowed hard, his stomach sinking like he’d just admitted a dirty secret. 

“It seems like I have more to gain from this friendship,” you said, smiling wryly as you walked to the sink, rinsing your plate and putting it in the washer, “if you’re going to be cooking for me and sharing custody of your cat.”

“I assure you, Lieutenant,” Hux said, “the pleasure of your company is more than enough.” You stared at him for a moment, your gaze impenetrable, but soft somehow. You walked over to him and leaned against the table, your arms crossed over your chest. He stayed seated, on pins and needles as you leaned in closer.

“Thank you for the dinner,” you said quietly, the same profound look on your face, as if you were trying to find something crucial hidden in his expression, “your kindness means everything to me.”

“Of course, Lieutenant,” Hux's heart beat faster, like its only purpose was to alert him to your proximity. 

“And I want you to know that your father was wrong about you, all of them were.” Before Hux could react, your hands were on his shoulders and your lips were on his cheek, the kiss too quick for him to process, like lightning. You walked away from him, and he didn’t turn to watch as you headed to the door, frozen in his place at the table, cursing how easily he flushed red in response to your touch.

“You’re a good man, General, and a good friend. Sleep well.”


	12. Threats

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! Thank you for the wonderful response to the last chapter, I'm completely blown away! Just so everybody knows, I'm taking requests for one-shots, headcannons, and preferences on my tumblr, starlightsearches. You can submit questions anonymously, so you shouldn't need to create an account to submit something!
> 
> There are a few super super slight references to sex in this chapter, but for the most part it's pretty mild. Let me know what you think!

Ren stared up at the intricately-painted ceiling as he laid on the bed. He was trying not to think about the fact that you were practically naked—wearing only a robe—and sitting a few feet away from him. Not that anything was going to happen, of course, no matter how badly he wanted it; he had been in this same position for about three hours now with little development. 

The First Order celebration thrown in your honor was tonight, but neither the _Finalizer_ nor the _Supremacy_ were large enough to accommodate all of the transports needed to shuttle guests to a party like this one, and so instead you were at an estate on Alsakan owned by one of the members of the Directorate. Everything about the place screamed opulence, including the bedroom where Ren and you were waiting for the party to start. It was twice the size of his quarters on the ship and packed with every lavish furnishing you could imagine. Hux was overseeing arrangements for the festivities in the largest of the three ballrooms now, no doubt bossing around caterers and decorators to the point of insanity.

Ren had followed you to the room they had arranged for your preparation, since he had nothing better to do, and you didn’t seem to mind his presence. He had been to your quarters a few more times over the last few days, sometimes for teaching purposes . . . and sometimes not. You had believed him when he said he was trying to avoid the general, even if you found it a little strange. The white lie was worth it since it allowed him spend more time with you; if he had things his way, he’d never leave your side. Just being there with you in the room with you was almost unbearable, but the torture of it was sweet to Ren, the anticipation delectable.

“Would you hand me my hairbrush?” you asked him, pointing to your bag at the end of the bed. After you had finished reading over your speech for the hundredth time, you started working on your appearance, applying creams and pigments with a practiced hand. Ren sat up on the bed and grabbed your bag, giving it to you and finding a seat on a low bench by the gilded vanity where you worked.

“Have you had any success?” he asked, and he knew he didn’t have to clarify his meaning any further.

“No,” you sighed in response. You looked stunning, your eyes sparkling in the light of the mirror, and maybe he was a little glad that you hadn’t learned to pick up on his thoughts yet.

“It’s a process. It will come in time.”

“It doesn’t feel like a process,” you said, irate, “it feels like . . . nothing. I look at people, I try to feel it, try to sense _anything_ , and-” you shrugged, and the robe slipped from your shoulder, revealing the smooth skin of your shoulder before you pulled it back into place. On second thought, Ren was definitely glad that you hadn't learned to read his thoughts yet.

“Have you tried contact? That can make it easier-”

“I tried that on the general the other day, and it didn’t work.” Ren paused, withholding a scowl. What had that entailed? “I’m telling you, I don’t feel anything!” You hesitated for a moment after your outburst, speaking more quietly, “the only time I’ve managed is when we’ve practiced.”

“I’m sure you’ll get there,” Ren said. He really didn’t want to argue with you, and part of him was still trying to discern what had happened between you and the general, pulling his focus away from the conversation.

“Do you think it’s possible-” you said, biting your lip before continuing, “do you think it’s possible that Snoke was . . . wrong about me?”

“You’re being too hard on yourself." _T_ _hat_ particular discussion was not one he wanted to have right now, especially when you were already in a semi-volatile state. 

“I’m just saying, maybe I’m not force-sensitive. Maybe I’m just, I don’t know, sensitive to the force? If it only works when I’m around you, could it be possible that I’m . . . accessing part of your power? Is there such a thing?” 

“I’ll look into it.” Ren had never heard of anything like that before, but he wanted to give you some peace of mind, and you seemed mollified for now.

“I need to put on my dress,” you stood from the chair, walking to the garment bag hanging up by the door. He moved to leave, but you stopped him, saying, “you can close your eyes.”

Ren couldn’t find anything to say in reply, his mind gone blank, but shut his eyes in compliance, every nerve in his body thrumming as he listened to the sound of your robe sliding to the floor. What would he do, he wondered, if you came over to him, placed yourself gently in his lap, ran your lips over the skin of his jaw? What would he do if you brushed your fingertips over his eyelids, his mouth? If you kissed him? The fabric of your dress rustled as you pulled it over your body, but the sound far away in Ren’s mind, which was occupied by more pressing matters. 

“You can open your eyes now.” The enchantment of the moment was broken, and Ren looked to you. You held the crimson gown up over your chest to keep it from falling as the straps and strings of beading hung low off your shoulders, apparently only decorative. “Would you mind lacing me up?” You walked over to him, and faced away; he was glad you couldn’t see the heat rising in his cheeks. 

The back of the dress was mostly open, everything from the middle of your spine all the way to your neck visible between the laces of the corset. Ren swallowed hard, and reached for the strings that would hold the dress in place. Had you always had this much _skin_? And did all of it look this soft? He resisted the urge to brush his fingers up your spinal column, tried not to think about the way you might curve into him if he did, and pulled the ribbons tighter. It was a lengthy process, and he couldn’t stop his hands from shaking as he secured it. You let go of the dress and swished around, checking to make sure that everything felt stable. 

“How do I look?” you asked, satisfied, turning to face him and settling the skirt around you. The dress was elegant, ornately beaded with burgundy jewels in organic patterns—leaves, flowers, birds—the scarlet color striking against your skin, giving off an aura of strength and authority. Ren wracked his brain for the right words, but nothing felt powerful enough to describe the way he saw you. Like a goddess, or a warrior queen from the stories he had been told as a child.

“You look . . . nice.” _Damnit._ That wasn’t the right choice, and your face fell for a moment before Ren stammered to correct himself, “I mean, you look beautiful.” You turned to admire your appearance in the full-length mirror, smiling, taking in the effect of your completed ensemble.

“Maybe it’s a little frivolous,” you said, “but I love these parties. I miss dancing all the time.” You swayed for a moment, and then twirled, holding your hands up for an imaginary dance partner, the skirt flaring around your legs as you moved.

“I never learned how to dance,” _God._ What other idiotic things should he admit to you? _If you ran your hands through my hair I’d probably black out. I thought about kissing you once the other day and I had to take a walk to calm down._

“Come here, I’ll teach you.” You gestured for him to come closer, and he paused reluctantly before giving in. You grabbed both of his hands, placing one at the dip your waist, the beading rough against his fingers, and his breath hitched; he hoped you wouldn’t notice. You demonstrated the steps slowly at first, and he followed along clumsily as you led him in a small circle.

“Don’t look at your feet,” you said, squeezing his hand in yours, “it’ll only make it more difficult. Just look at me.” As if that was going to solve his problem. Ren obeyed, and noticed a familiar look of focus on your face.

“Are you trying to read me right now?” he asked, a little scandalized, hoping selfishly that you hadn’t had any success. If you started getting better at this, he’d have to be more careful around you.

“I’m just trying to get in more practice,” you said, widening your eyes and blinking with mock innocence. 

“Are you getting anything?” Did he want to hear your answer? He couldn’t decide if it was worse to know or to wonder.

“You seem nervous?”

“Don’t guess. You have to reach for it.” Ren berated himself silently; he should _not_ be encouraging you right now with his emotions going haywire.

“You’re-” A knock on the door interrupted whatever you had planned to say, and the general stepped in before you or Ren had the chance to answer. He was already dressed for the party as well, wearing a black suit and looking hostile.

“I hope I’m not interrupting anything,” Hux said, sounding terribly glad to have interrupted the scene before him. You let go of Ren—his hand slipping from your waist reluctantly—and walked to Hux, brushing some imaginary dust off of his shoulder and resting your hand over the lapel of his suit jacket.

“Hello, General! You look very handsome.” He blushed pink in response, and Ren forced himself not to gag. You adjusted the collar of his dress shirt, your hand lingering near Hux’s neck, and Ren felt the general’s pulse quicken at the contact. _She’s trying to read him_. Ren was once again impressed by your cleverness, despite the fact that you had just been using it against him. A better person than him would have warned the general what you were trying to do, but if you found out anything unsavory from your attempts to connect to the force, that would be Hux’s problem. Even in a stalemate, Ren didn’t owe Hux anything.

“Thank you, Lieutenant,” Hux was trying to keep his voice steady, but his attempts sounded ineffective, at least to Ren’s ears, “you look lovely.” You removed your hand from his collar; apparently you hadn’t been able to pick up on his thoughts. The general was dismayed that you had broken contact, and the bitter part of Ren wanted to tell him the real reason it had happened, despite the fact that the temporary wound it would cause to Hux’s ego would only be detrimental to Ren’s long-term goal.

“You’re too kind, General. Is everything ready?”

“Guests are just arriving now. Speaking of which,” Hux said, “The allegiant general and his wife are here. They wanted to see you.”

“They’re here?” Apprehension scuttled up your spine, and Ren picked up on it before you controlled it. _Strange._

“Yes, but I can have them wait until the end of the party if you would like.”

“No, that’s alright,” your pulse increased incrementally as you spoke, “you can bring them in.”

_Officious prick_. Hux kept his mouth shut, but couldn’t keep himself from silently insulting Pryde as they walked back to the room. The man and his wife—a frail-looking, stuffy woman—walked a few steps behind him, talking as if he weren’t there at all, critiquing everything about the evening from the decor to the weather, and Hux wanted to scream by the time they finally reached the correct room. Pryde brushed by Hux as soon as they arrived and opened the door without knocking, his wife following close behind. Hux entered last, finding a place along the wall next to Ren to observe the reunion. 

“Oh, darling!” Pryde’s wife greeted you first, and you stood from off the bed to go to her. She engulfed you in a hug, which you returned, bending down to hold the tiny woman in your arms. Pryde approached you next, and you saluted him, and then embraced him as well, placing a soft kiss on his cheek.

“We’re so proud of you, daughter,” Pryde said, holding you at arm’s length, and you gave both of them a gentle smile.

Hux watched the interaction with a strange fascination. His own father had never said those words to him, in public or private, had never expressed any kind of satisfaction in him at all . . . Usually it was the opposite. Hux had been suspicious when you first told him about your relation to the allegiant general and his wife, worried that your upbringing may have been like his own, but it seemed that they were caring parents to you, or at least, more caring than his father had been.

“Darling,” your mother began, looking a little scandalized as she scrutinized your appearance, “don’t you think that might be too much . . . skin for an event like this? You wouldn’t want anyone to think of you as indecorous.” The neckline was rather low, something Hux had already noticed, and the back was open, exposing the powerful muscles of your shoulders and arms. You laughed, brushing off her criticisms.

“Please mother, I like this dress,” you said with a sly smile, “and if you think this is indecorous, you should have seen the other ones I tried on.” You winked, and she reached out and swatted at you, shocked at your cavalier attitude. Hux perked up at your words. He _would_ have liked to see the other dresses. Ren glared at him, hearing his thoughts, but Hux chose to ignore it. After all, he had probably been thinking the same thing.

“You still wear your grandmother’s necklace, though, at least,” your mother said, oblivious to the conflict behind her. Hux had hardly noticed it before now, a modest trinket. Besides, there were quite a few things more exciting about your attire than your jewelry.

“Always,” you responded, taking her by the hand. What would it have been like, Hux wondered, if he had been raised in the Pryde home instead? Would they have treated him this kindly? Or was there truly something terrible and weak about him that his father had picked up on, something that would ensure his abuse regardless of who was supposed to care for him?

A knock on the door interrupted Hux’s uneasy thoughts, and he opened it, blocking the view of the rest of the room. A servant of the estate stood at the door.

“Excuse me, General, but all of the guests have arrived. We’re almost ready for you to make your entrance.”

“Of course,” Hux said. He closed the door and turned back to face the room. Pryde looked at him with rancor, as if Hux had been the one to interrupt the gathering.

“We’ll leave now,” Pryde said, his hand on your shoulder in one final display of affection. “General, walk with us, I’d like to speak with you in private.” Hux raised his eyebrows in surprise, he had not expected Pryde to acknowledge him, but followed them out.

“Go on ahead, Mira,” Pryde directed his wife, shooing her down the hallway towards the party. He turned back to Hux, displeasure evident in his gaze, but the general stood his ground. Hux wasn’t a child anymore, and he wouldn’t let someone like Pryde push him around as he had so many times before.

“Walk with me, General.” They headed deeper into the shadowy portion of the hallway, away from the party, stopping in front of a large window that overlooked the massive grounds. The rain outside was torrential, falling in thick sheets, distorting the image and streaking down the glass like so many tears.

“I assume she told you,” Pryde said, finally.

“Yes.” So this was about you. Hux should have guessed.

“I assumed as much. She has always been a terrible judge of character.” Hux felt no sting in the insult, but his anger flared that your father would speak of you that way.

“On the contrary, Allegiant General, I’ve found her to be an excellent judge of character, present company notwithstanding.” It was not above Hux to make a snide remark, especially when Pryde had started it. “I assure you that I have no ill will for your daughter. I’ll keep the information private.”

“See that you do.” He made no move to leave, and Hux felt compelled to stay as well, despite his desire to do otherwise. He hated the idea of leaving you alone with Ren for any more time than necessary, especially after the impromptu dance lessons he had barged in on earlier. Pryde broke the silence again, his tone casual but his words laced with something dangerous, “My daughter is the most important thing in my possession. I will protect her by any means necessary. I’ve _killed_ for her before, General, and I wouldn’t hesitate to do it again. Do we have an understanding?”

“Of course, sir,” Hux knew he was being threatened, but he couldn’t bother to care. He found the conversation tedious, the warning a little clumsy. To his surprise, Pryde grabbed him by the arm, his grip much stronger than his age would suggest, and forced him to make eye contact.

“Listen to me you _piece of shit_ ,” Pryde was seething as he spoke, so different from the caring persona he had adopted only moments ago, “your father may have been too stupid to kill you when he had the chance, but I will not be making the same mistake. If my daughter is harmed while under your supervision, I _will not_ hesitate to end you. Do I make myself clear?” 

“As I said before, _sir_ -” Hux pulled his arm from Pryde’s grasp, straightening out the wrinkles in his jacket sleeve, “I understand you perfectly.” The man sneered at him, disappointed that his intimidation had not yielded better results, and stalked off down the hallway. Hux composed himself, running his hand once more over his jacket sleeve before heading back to the room.

“What was that about?” You asked the general as soon as he entered. Ren, too, was trying to determine what had happened, and he found the memory easily, observing Pryde’s threats with more unease than Hux had expected. What did he know?

“Just a question about Starkiller Base. Are you ready?” Hux didn’t feel good about lying to you, even if it was necessary for your peace of mind, if not your protection. Regardless of how affectionate Pryde had seemed, Hux doubted that he was a man who would accept any kind of defiance, even from his daughter.

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” you said, taking his arm. Ren placed his helmet over his face, and followed closely behind, the three of you on your way to greet your guests.

Ren hated parties. He normally could avoid them, as many members of the First Order were somewhat _uncomfortable_ in his presence, but the ones he had attended were boring at the best of times. It didn’t help that most of the reasons that these gatherings were supposed to be enjoyable were denied him: the extravagant meals, the posturing in front of colleagues and competitors, and the dancing—something he never thought he would enjoy, but now that you were there . . .

It seemed from the beginning that this party was going to be more intolerable than most. It bothered him that you were on Hux’s arm, but Ren did have a reputation to maintain, and the Directorate was distrustful of force users; they would like any reason to question his competence, and showing any weakness would have immediate consequences. 

The party started off with a reception line, which he was required to be a part of even though no one was there to talk to him. Ren was forced to watch as Hux showed off for you, probably part of the general’s plan, introducing you to members of the Directorate with a superior air. The grand manner with which he presented himself was already annoying, but even worse, it seemed to be working: you practically fawned over him as he spoke, admiring the way he was treated by the highest ranked in the Order. You had almost fainted when he introduced you to Rae Sloane, one of your personal heroes, and Ren was having a harder and harder time trying not to lash out.

A servant announced that dinner was about to be served, and you found your way to your seats at the high table. Phasma joined your group on the general’s left, in her armor but without her helmet now that she had finished with the assignments for the Storm Trooper security detail. The Troopers stood on the edges of the ballroom, more for show than anything else. 

The meal began, the polite dinner conversation along with it, and Ren participated in neither, instead choosing to watch you, grateful for the mask, grateful that you couldn’t see the softness in his face as he studied you intently. _You’re not eating_ , you pressed the thought towards him silently, feigning focus on the discussion happening at the table. Ren knew a shrug in response wouldn’t suffice, but he was unsure how to communicate back to you without alerting the other guests. Your hand slipped surreptitiously from above the table into your lap, and then underneath, reaching to him. He could see your fingers wiggling in his periphery. _It’s worth a shot_ , he heard you, and he cautiously pulled his glove off of his right hand, placing it in yours. Your fingers intertwined with his, and he felt his palm begin to perspire almost immediately. He sneered behind the mask, disgusted with himself. How could he even think of being with you _in that way_ when this slight contact had such an effect on him? 

He focused his thoughts, trying to make his message stark in his mind so that you could more easily grab onto it. He could feel your attempts to focus, but nothing yielded, his thoughts still secure, and his palm grew slicker. Would you notice? What would the others think if they caught you holding hands like children away from prying eyes? Maybe, he thought, he could help you if he just gave a little _push_.

A strangled cry rose from your throat, which immediately turned into a coughing fit, drawing the eyes of the other dinner guests. Ren pulled his hand from yours, too abruptly, and he knew without looking that Hux had seen.

“Are you alright, Lieutenant General?” Phasma asked, and a waiter, sensing your distress, came over to refill your glass. You took a long sip of the wine, finally able to breathe again. 

“Yes, I’m fine,” you assured her, and the others relaxed, except for Hux, who still had his eyes on Ren, “I don’t know what came over me.” Pryde was looking at you, as well, seated a little ways away, his gaze boring into you, and you shrunk infinitesimally, a stabbing fear entering your head. The same fear you had felt earlier in the bedroom, when your father had first come to visit.

“It’s probably just the nerves, Lieutenant General,” Sloane said, “I’m sure your speech will be wonderful.” Ren could feel your heart flutter at her words, the pride of being recognized by someone as powerful as Sloane only slightly dampened by your interaction with your father. The chatter resumed at the table, and you glanced at Ren, another one of your thoughts coming to him: _how did you_ do _that?_ Ren shrugged in response, but you moved your hand under the table again, insistent, and he was forced to oblige.

 _I’m sorry, did I hurt you?_ He pressed the thought at you, gently this time, and you shivered in response, but your expression remained impassive.

_No, it just surprised me. It’s the strangest sensation, I don’t know if I could explain it . . . Have you ever done something like that before?_

_No,_ Ren could feel himself blushing like an idiot. The question felt suggestive in a way that put him on edge, and he hoped that you wouldn’t be able to pick up on his discomfort through your tenuous connection. He needed to distract you. _Do you think anyone else noticed? Your father?_ You stiffened, pulling your hand from his, shaking your head minutely. By now, Ren had sensed a pattern. Whenever you thought of the allegiant general, your thoughts turned black.

The plates from the final course were cleared away, and the general took the stage, giving you a small introduction before your speech. Ren listened half-heartedly as Hux blathered on about _bravery_ and _loyalty_ and _dedication_. He finished, and you moved to the stage as Hux once again found his seat.

Ren tried to force himself to listen to your speech, but he couldn’t manage to focus on anything you were saying. He was still thinking about your father. Before the party, he had been curious: you acted the part of a loving daughter perfectly, but the terror had been undeniable. You, a person who feared so little, were practically paralyzed when Pryde had singled Hux out, pacing anxiously in the room while they had talked. He was still trying to make sense of it all when Hux elbowed him in the side, hard.

“ _What?_ ” Ren whispered, hoping Hux could hear his anger despite the mask.

“There’s a Storm Trooper, up against the wall over there, six down from us. The fidgeting one. I want you to tell me what they’re thinking.” Ren rolled his eyes. A twitchy Storm Trooper; how trivial. Ren was about to tell Hux to piss off, but he looked to Captain Phasma first, and stopped. She was on edge, a fierce look in her eyes, completely ignoring your speech, her entire body focused only on the Storm Trooper in question, her hands balled into tight fists. He had never seen her this way before. Something was wrong.

Ren closed his eyes cast his focus outward, letting the thoughts of the crowd spill into his consciousness, trying to pick out the Storm Trooper in question without alerting any of the others to his presence.

He stood from the chair, knocking it over roughly, and Phasma and the general moved with him in tandem, out of their seats without Ren needing to say anything. But they were too late. Ren was forced to watch from across the room as the Trooper raised his blaster, aimed at your heart, and fired.


	13. Interrogations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! Here is chapter 13, as promised! There are some references to torture in this one, so be aware of that, and Kylo Ren does hurt someone while interrogating them, which is described in the story. Let me know what you think!!

In your mind, three things happened at once: the sound of the blaster shot echoed in your ears, a scream pierced the air, and the impact, not from the plasma bolt, but from the general, sweeping you into his arms and pulling you out of harm's way. His hand cradled the back of your neck to protect your head, and you hit the floor, the weight of him pressing against you, shielding you from the attack. The room was silent for a moment. All you could hear was the general’s breathing, heavy against the skin of your neck.

Outside your line of sight, chaos erupted. You nudged Hux gently, and he paused before rolling off of you, his other arm still warm and firm around your waist behind your back. You managed to stand, pulling him to his feet as well, and then adjusted your dress; the neckline had slipped dangerously low from your tumble, and your cheeks went red, although the general pretended not to notice, shielding you delicately from view. The crowd was frantic, people fleeing towards the exits only to be cut off by Storm Troopers who were blocking the doors to stop anyone from escaping. It was protocol for any attempted assassinations. 

_Assassination_. God, was that something you’d have to worry about now? The plasma bolt hovered in the air, only a few feet away from the podium where you had been standing, a grim reminder of what could have happened if the others had not acted so quickly. You searched the room for Ren and found him standing by his seat, the strain of exertion clear in his posture, and you knew that it had taken considerable effort for him to stop the shot at such short range. He couldn’t hold on anymore, and the plasma bolt collided with the wall behind the stage, the sound of it echoed by a cry from the guests, who had now stopped their futile dash to the doors and instead turned back to see what the hell had happened.

Phasma had subdued the shooter on her own, taking his blaster, removing the helmet from his head. It wasn’t one of your Troopers; you had never seen the man before in your life. He was handsome, in a morbid way, with black hair wild and messy from the helmet, and sharp cheekbones—a face carved from stone. The look in his eyes was anything but stony: his face was full of an unfettered loathing as he looked at you from across the ballroom. “Get him out of here,” Phasma ordered, and two Troopers materialized to escort the impostor third out of the room through the now silent and waiting crowd. All eyes turned to you. 

This would be a defining moment; you had to react carefully. If you ran now, if you showed any fear, it would be the start of a reputation that would follow you throughout your career in the Order. It would find its way to the Resistance, to the HoloNet, would echo around the galaxy into the waiting ears of every potential enemy and supporter. Would you be known as nothing more than a young, silly girl in a low-cut dress who fled at the first sign of trouble? _Never_.

“It seems at least one person thinks that my speech has gone on too long,” you began, smoothing your skirt and hoping to look at ease, as if attempts on your life happened every day. A few people tittered nervously at your joke, and you relaxed, growing more confident in your decision, “perhaps we should move on to the dancing?”

The small transport was terribly cramped, the tension stifling as you, General Hux, Ren, and the prisoner made your way back to the Finalizer. In a fit of uncharacteristic indulgence, Hux removed his suit jacket and tie, rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, hoping to make himself more comfortable, but it was without success. The party was over now, and the guests—while a little nervous—had recovered quickly, dancing and socializing as they were accustomed to at other parties where no one’s life was threatened. You had played off the ordeal incredibly, and Hux was impressed. He had watched you closely the rest of the night as you participated in the festivities with enthusiasm, charming everyone in sight, the whole room enamored with the young, new and brave lieutenant general. He, too, had tried to focus on the party, and even though it had been difficult to resist the powerful urge to run off to somewhere safe with you in tow, he had managed. 

It seemed that Pryde had been thinking the same thing. Multiple times during the evening, the general had found Pryde watching him, shooting daggers with his venomous gaze, as if it had been Hux’s fault that you had almost been shot instead of the opposite. He had ignored the looks rather well, but they left him with a creeping chill. 

And still, an even stronger feeling lingered, one that both embarrassed him and thrilled him to his core. The moment he tackled you to the ground should not be the one stuck in his mind, but it was, replaying over and over again, slower each time, more detailed. He had no way to know what it had looked like from the outside, but inside, it had felt . . . breathtaking, in the best way, like you were falling in slow motion, the fabric of your skirt wrapping its way around his legs, as if you were diving into a bed of rose petals and not to the cold and unwelcoming floor of the ballroom. He imagined it was like the cover of those romance novels he had always been fascinated by but had never been brave enough to pick up. He couldn’t forget the sensation of his hand at the back of your neck, like it was made to hold you in just this way, and the look on your face as he stared into your eyes: no trace of panic, almost serene, but holding something deeper beneath the surface, as if you were about to ask a question he had been longing to hear and he already knew that the answer would be yes.

You were sitting next to him in the transport, still dressed for the party as well. It was small, with few seats, and Ren was standing up against the wall. You looked at the prisoner with a casual curiosity and the man stared back with venom.

“Would you like something to drink?” You spoke to him, your voice light, almost friendly, and he said nothing in response; there was a gag over his mouth, but he nodded after serious thought. Standing from the couch, you grabbed a canteen from nearby and moved to sit beside the would-be killer, but Ren grabbed you by the arm as you scooted past him, stopping your approach.

“You can’t be serious.” He had taken the mask off now that you were in a private setting, and his face betrayed more than just worry under Hux’s scrutiny. It made the general nervous; how had things between the two of you changed so quickly? Was it really so dangerous to leave you alone with him? Hux would have to deal with that problem later.

“What’s he going to do, Ren?” you asked, attempting to pull away, “He’s cuffed and there’s three of us. If he tries anything, just kill him.” You moved towards the bench again, but Ren gripped your arm tighter, his growing frustration matching your own. Both of you turned to look at Hux expectantly, hoping for support. The general was at a loss for words; seeing that Ren expected Hux to side with him was much too strange.

“Let her talk to him,” He said, shrugging, and a victorious smirk splashed across your face. Ren let go of you, but he made his fury at the general apparent, huffing and glaring, leaning back against the wall with passive frustration. You ignored his whining and sat by the prisoner, gently untying the gag and taking the back of his head in your hand, lifting the canteen to his lips for him to drink. 

“What’s your name?” you asked softly, as swallowed the water. He looked at you curiously, but made no response.

“Who sent you?” You asked again, your voice so low and calm and terribly at odds with the situation at hand that Hux had to clench his jaw to keep from speaking. The prisoner nudged the canteen away from his face roughly when he finished, and stared at you, licking his lips and looking reflective. For a moment Hux thought that the man might speak, and he leaned forward to listen, watching as the man moved closer to you as if to whisper a secret, and then without warning, spat in your face.

Hux was out of his chair before you could stop him, the loud smack echoing against the durasteel walls as he slapped the prisoner with the back of his hand. The man tried to shield himself with his arms, still cuffed in front of him, and you looked to Hux, your own hand raised in warning, pressing into his abdomen to keep him at a distance. He stopped, the heat of your fingers burning into the skin of his midriff, and the unspoken communication between you sent a shiver down his spine. 

“It’s fine, General.” You spoke calmly, but there was a warning look in your eyes as you wiped the spit off of your cheek with the back of your hand. Hux couldn’t move, torn between the need to demonstrate his trust in you and the intense desperation to protect you from further harm. It seemed that you recognized his internal struggle, and your hand moved from his stomach to his side, your thumb tracing a wide half-circle across his midsection, your hand still firm, but gentler now, comforting.

“It’s fine, Armitage,” you said quietly, and the sound of his name from your lips tipped the scales for Hux. He found his seat again, while Ren’s glare burned into the side of his head.

“Tell me who you’re working for,” you tried again, addressing the prisoner.

“I’m not telling you anything,” he said, his voice a low rasp, and he stared up at the ceiling of the transport, his cheek red where Hux had hit him. 

“Fine. Have it your way. Let’s try this instead: stop me if I’m wrong,” you turned to face him, observing him carefully, and the man watched you, surprised, “You’re not Resistance, I don’t think. They have no reason to target me, especially with how many high-ranking officials were in that room. I’m sure I’m pretty low on their list.”

“There are lots of others who might want to hurt the Order though, and they’re usually willing to pay. You’re probably a bounty hunter, but not a very good one, it seems. Most guild bounty hunters are trained vigorously; training that includes instruction to refuse food and drink in the event of capture.” You paused to look at the man pointedly, and his face contorted in rage, but you continued on.

“That means that you’re probably hiring yourself out independently to people who don’t know any better. The First Order has many enemies, but most of them are committed to the guilds, despite the higher rates. I’m guessing that you were contracted by someone low on funds and desperate to make a name for themselves, a young businessman of some kind, or maybe a fledgling politician?” You stood from the bench, hands on your hips and your head cocked to one side, like you’d just puzzled out a difficult riddle instead of discerning the details of a complicated murder plot.

“So, how did I do?” You asked, and the man roared in anger, launching himself at you, tackling you to the ground and reaching for your throat. Before Hux could react, a loud bang echoed through the ship as the man flew into one of the durasteel walls, pushed from his attack by Ren, who ran to your side and helped you to your feet. The prisoner made no move from where he lay, conscious, but only just, a thin streak of blood running from the back of his head down his neck.

“I’ll assume that means that I’m correct,” you addressed the prisoner, your chest heaving from the exertion of fighting him off, “and I’d like to remind you that the next time you’re being interrogated, I won’t be in the room with you. It will be one of them-” you gestured behind you, to Hux and to Ren, “and they will not be quite so kind.”

The next morning, Ren studied you silently as you walked with him down the hallway. You were in your new officer’s uniform, wearing your greatcoat on your shoulders and sipping from a cup of coffee. You were headed to the interrogation room to meet the general, who was questioning the prisoner. Well, you, Ren, and your new _shadow_ were headed to the interrogation room. Hux had assigned the Storm Trooper to your security detail as soon as you had disembarked from the transport the night before. He came highly recommended by you and by Phasma, one of your most promising students, and apparently he wasn’t going to leave your side, no matter how much Ren glared at him. Ren was very suspicious of the Trooper; had Hux asked him to report on your activities? Ren wouldn’t put it past the general to spy on you under the guise of protection.

You seemed fine, not at all disturbed by the events of last night, but Ren had lost sleep, terribly troubled, not by the shooter but by something that appeared to him even darker: the true nature of your relationship with Allegiant General Pryde. He had wanted to ask you more, outside the watchful eyes of General Hux, but now with the Trooper following your every move, having any time alone with you felt next to impossible. The three of you entered the observation room, hidden from view behind one-way transparisteel. It was a cramped space, and Ren shifted closer to you, glad to have an excuse if he accidentally made contact.

You watched Hux as he questioned the prisoner, and Ren watched you. You were impassive, almost bored as you observed, despite Hux’s intense technique. There was a reason the general went first in interrogations: Ren could pry information out of anybody, but it was much easier once the general left them broken. You shifted from one foot to the other, leaning against Ren gently, and he could feel the press of your arm against his through your greatcoat. He removed his helmet with one hand, feeling strangely warm in the cool air of the observation room. His mouth was dry, but he turned to you, his curiosity overcoming his hesitations.

“Could I ask you something . . . personal?” the words tumbled from his lips, and you turned to him, confusion lining your face.

“What did you want to know?” You seemed a little amused, and Ren immediately turned away. Were you laughing at him? How embarrassing. Seeing his reaction, you studied him curiously before turning to the Trooper, who sat silently against the wall.

“You’re excused, FN-2187.”

“Lieutenant General, I’m sorry, but General Hux told me-”

“I’ll speak with the general if he has any problems, but for now I’d like you to wait outside.” The Trooper shifted uncomfortably for a moment, but ultimately turned and walked out the exit.

You removed one of your leather gloves, and held your bare hand out to him, an understanding smile on your face. “Would this make it easier?” 

Ren felt himself coming apart. Your perception of him was unmatched; no one had known him like this before. He removed his glove, placing his hand in yours, amazed that something so simple could feel so _right._

You faced away from him again, and closed your eyes, allowing him access to your thoughts, which he took in rabidly. _What did you want to know?_ The same question, but the nuance was entirely altered. It was the purest form of connection—no walls to hide behind, no subtle gestures to interpret, and if Ren wasn’t careful, he knew he would give away everything.

The words still wouldn’t come, so he sent images, impressions: his view from behind you, when the general had mentioned the Prydes before the party, and then at the dinner, the feeling of your hand tugged from his after the allegiant general had looked at you so harshly. You stiffened.

“What is this about, Ren?” you stared down at the floor, shrinking yourself, tendrils of hair falling from behind your ears and into your face. Ren wanted to brush them back, but his hand was still in yours, and he wasn’t sure if you’d offer it again if he let go.

“What happened to your parents?” For a moment he didn’t realize that he had said anything at all until you pulled your hand from his, flinching away from him like you had been burned. Your heart rate spiked, adrenaline rushing through your veins in response to some unseen threat.

“What?” You asked, your voice barely a whisper.

“I can feel it,” he said to you, hands up to show you that he wasn’t a threat, “I know that something happened to them, something you’re not telling me . . . you can trust me.” His attempts to quell your fears fell on deaf ears.

“The Prydes raised me as their _own_ , gave me everything I could ever wish for. They were kind to me,” your hand ghosted to your throat, subconsciously, the hint of your necklace chain peeking out from behind the collar of your uniform. He could feel the sincerity in your words—but there was something else there too, looming large and oppressive in your mind. You were trying to protect him. He could feel it.

Ren chose to back down, afraid of driving you away from him, especially now that he had gotten so close. “I didn’t mean to pry,” he said, turning away, closing off his connection to your thoughts for a moment and allowing you to breathe. You straightened yourself out, replacing the glove on your right hand, symbolically shutting him out with one small gesture. Once you were back in control, you responded.

“It is difficult for me to talk about my family. I was too young to be without my parents when they died. The Prydes did everything they could for me, but I still feel their loss constantly. I’m sure you understand?” Ren nodded, reticent. The door behind you opened, and General Hux stepped in, replacing his own gloves on his hands and shrugging his greatcoat onto his shoulders.

“Why is your guard outside the door?” He asked, and Ren rifled through his thoughts. So the Trooper was meant to spy on you. Or, more accurately, on Ren. He hadn’t expected the general to stoop so low.

“I don’t need a guard, General. I’m fine! Who’s going to kill me aboard the ship?” You were exasperated, but amicably so, a soft warmth for the general’s concern in your chest pushing out your fear from before. Fear that Ren had caused. The thought made him a little sick.

“You can never be too careful, Lieutenant,” Hux addressed you, but his eyes were on Ren. Should Ren tell you about Hux’s scheming? He weighed the potential outcomes in his mind, trying to predict how you would react.

“You act like there’s never been a price on your head,” you mumbled, too cavalier about this whole situation. Hux chose to ignore the comment and addressed Ren instead. 

“The prisoner confirmed that the Lieutenant was correct about the nature of his employment, but wouldn’t give me the name of his patron or the reason they selected her as the target.”

“Your turn,” you said to Ren as he replaced his helmet on his head. There was an awkwardness in the way that you spoke to him, and it seemed unlikely that you’d forget the conversation about your family any time soon, but Ren was more determined than ever to show you that he was worthy of your trust, that _he_ could protect you.

The interrogation room was cold, icily so, and Ren felt the chill through the many layers that he wore. The prisoner was restrained before him, his face distorted in places from the swelling, a trickle of blood running down his nose.

“Tell me about your employer,” Ren started, tuning into the thoughts of the man before him. His mind was heavily guarded, even after the general’s interrogation, an impressive feat.

“Tell me about the girl,” he responded. Even as beaten as he was, he still managed to look above it all, running his tongue over his upper lip, smearing some of the blood across his face. Ren paused. A small light blinked red near the exit, a sign that you could hear anything happening in the other chamber of interrogation room through the comms channel. Ren shut it off with the force, nervous at the thought of you listening in.

“What do you want to know?” Ren asked, keeping track of the man’s pulse, prodding for the weak spots in his mind. He knew that if he kept the conversation casual, the prisoner might let his guard down, keep the most important information close to the surface.

“She single?” he asked, with a laugh and then continued, “I know that you like her,” and Ren’s fists clenched at his sides, “you’re a very easy man to read. Is that why you wear the mask?” He was taunting him openly, and Ren momentarily lost sight of the prisoner’s thoughts as the anger crept in.

“Who hired you?” Ren asked more forcefully, and the man flinched, his whole body seized with the effort of keeping his mind closed.

“Did I hit a nerve?” He was struggling to speak between gritted teeth, but the words kept coming, “Who would have thought that someone like you would have such a _soft_ spot?” He laughed, and Ren strengthened his hold on the man’s mind, no longer searching for answers, hoping only to hurt him. Desperate to get him to _stop_.

“Seems foolish, to me at least. A girl like that is not easily satisfied, if you know what I mean.” Ren could not avoid understanding the innuendo, deep enough in the man’s mind to see exactly what he was implying. The prisoner was breathless, struggling against the restraints, but laughing still, thwarting Ren’s attempts so easily. 

Ren gave in to the anger, letting go of all his pointless self-restraint, and plunged into the man’s mind without sense. The prisoner screamed in pain, but Ren ignored it. Clawing through a mind this way was dangerous, but he could not stand the alternative. If the prisoner kept talking this way, he’d kill him. The door flew open just as Ren found what he wanted; you and Hux ran in, followed closely behind by the Trooper. 

“What the hell happened?” Hux yelled, looking between Ren and the prisoner. The man was unconscious now, his breathing rapid and shallow. Low, wretched moans escaped his lips, and he twitched like he was having a terrible nightmare. Ren ignored Hux, turning to FN-2187 instead.

“Contact the captain. Tell her the prisoner is ready for his execution.” The Trooper left immediately, glad to be far away from Ren’s wrath. You and Hux stared at him, wide-eyed, surprised. Waiting.

“I’ve found the name of the target. Call a meeting.”


	14. Undercover

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oof, some big warnings for this one, specifically sexual assault! The reader goes undercover and someone makes advances on her, so please read with caution. She also kills a man, but that’s not described.

The music was loud in your ears, the bass thumping through your entire body as you danced, performing the steps with a smile on your face, showing off for the crowd below. It was too hot, too noisy, but you had to look like you were enjoying yourself; the success of the mission depended on everything going smoothly. Besides, you should be grateful. You had fought to be here.

The first fight had been the most difficult. Convincing Allecull, the chief intelligence officer and your sworn enemy, that you deserved a spot on the ground team had almost been impossible, especially with both the general _and_ Ren taking his side.

“You do realize that this man tried to have you killed?” Allecull had asked, like you were some kind of idiot. You had contained your anger; you knew that reacting in rage would not help your case. You had to seem calm, in control, or there was no way they’d let you go with them. It was terribly unfair, you certainly deserved to be angry.

“Yes, Major, I realize that. I’d like to return the favor.” Eventually, the ground team leader, Kane Cheepres, had convinced the others that you deserved a spot on the team, but not without three conditions. Number one: you would not engage the target; number two: you would stay under surveillance the entire time; and number three: you would leave at the first sign of trouble.

A new song started, and you forced yourself to recall the steps you had drilled into your head in the time before the mission, the movement relatively easy compared to what you were used to, even though it was a bit more lewd. You were playing the role of one of the clubs many dancers, who were spread around the area on individual, elevated stages. 

The stylist had told you that she wanted you to look fun, but what she had apparently meant was _loud_. You couldn’t help but feel exposed in the spangled, iridescent outfit: a pair of shorts for mobility and a crop top that exposed part of your midriff when you moved. It was not skin tight, at least, and she had opted for a casual pair of tennis shoes instead of heels like most of the other girls were wearing—better for running, in case you had to make a quick getaway. However, the wig she had put on you seemed to be made for nothing but inconvenience. It was long, grazing your tailbone when you moved, violet in color, and _heavy_. The whole ensemble made you feel like some kind of deranged butterfly, but it served its purpose; despite the intensity of your outfit, you still blended in rather well.

“No sign of the target,” you said quietly, knowing that the stealth comm placed near your mouth would pick up the sound, even over the thundering of the music. Your eyes scanned the space below you, searching for the man who had paid to see you dead. _Antibree Soar_.

According to Ren, Antibree was heir to Soar Weapons Manufacturing and the man who had ordered the hit. He had squandered his newfound fortune not long after his father’s death and targeted you, hoping that taking out a First Order officer would convince the Resistance and the Republic to see him as an ally, increasing his profits.

“Can anyone tell me why there’s a Resistance pilot here?” You heard the voice through the comms, belonging to Renaia Shadhin. She was the undercover operative who had been tasked with the actual elimination of Antibree, and was on the dance floor now, waiting for a sign of him. You searched for the pilot she was talking about, finding a familiar face near one of the lounge on your right. _Poe Dameron._ You had read his file. He was sitting in a chair, facing the crowd, a small smirk on his face, looking carefree and confident.

“I think I see him, too,” you responded, “on my right, in the lounge?”

“Black hair, brooding eyes, ruggedly handsome?” she asked in confirmation, and you couldn’t stifle your giggle quickly enough. You liked Renaia. She never lost her sense of humor, even in serious situations. How she could work with Allecull on a regular basis, you would never understand. As if on queue, another voice sounded off in your ear.

“Stay focused. You can fawn over Dameron later,” Allecull said. He was with the observation team in the transport that had taken you to Coruscant, along with the general, and Ren—who had insisted on coming—plus a few others, monitoring the holocam feeds in the club.

“I’ll keep my eye on Dameron. You two, work on locating the target,” Kane commanded, also undercover, moving from his place against the wall closer to the bar. You tried not to think about one of the many cam feeds trained on you as you performed, transmitting the image back to the observation team, and the ever-critical Allecull. Now was not the time to worry about your reputation.

“Hey doll!” A new voice called to you from below as the song ended, and you crouched down to speak to him. The manager of the club, a rat-faced man with a cheap hair piece, Braale, was down there, waving you off the stage. You hopped down carefully and bounced a little from foot to foot, trying to stretch out your legs.

“Yeah, boss?” you asked. You were playing peppy—eager-to-please—and it was obviously working. He giggled at the title, nudging the girl next to him, who tried to move out of his reach.

“Boss, huh? I like that. Hey, Marielle, remind me to tell the other girls to start calling me boss from now on!” The dancer nodded half-heartedly, rolling her eyes and giving you a dirty look.

“Marielle’s gonna be taking over for you here, I want you to go work the crowd. You’ve got quite a few fans already. On your first night, too!” he winked, pushing Marielle to the stage.

“You got it, boss,” you said brightly, walking past him and onto the churning dance floor. The crowd was sweaty and dense as you moved through it, bodies pressing up against you from every angle, some contact accidental and some decidedly not. You dodged the grabbing hands lithely, reminding yourself once again that you had wanted to be here. That you still wanted to be here.

“Make sure you stay visible, General,” Allecull ordered over the comm, and you rolled your eyes. Where did he think you were going to go? 

You found your way to the edge of the room, to one of the less populated bars, and asked the bartender for a water, hoping to cool yourself off a little. You had a decent view of the space when you turned back to the crowd—not as good as the one from the stage—but it would suffice. The club was less a room and more a giant, indoor arena—the dance floor impossibly huge and impossibly packed with the young, the rich, and the egotistical. Corsucant’s finest.

“I’ve got eyes on the target,” you heard Kane say, his urgency interrupting your thoughts, “on your left, Renaia. Lieutenant General, he’s heading for you.” You found him on the edge of the crowd, recognized him almost immediately from the photos. He looked young—younger than you—with chubby, smiling cheeks and a crop of fluffy blonde hair, scanning the crowd with eager eyes. He saw you looking, and looked back, moving to you with enthusiastic determination. Fuck.

“Get out of there, Lieutenant.” Hux’s voice came in over the comms channel. 

“I can’t, he’s already seen me. If I run it will only be more suspicious.” You took a few deep breaths, trying to calm yourself. You were in disguise—he probably didn’t recognize you—and you could use that to your advantage, but you had to make a plan now before everything went to shit. 

“I’m going to turn off my mic,” you said quickly, “you’ll still have sound, but if I leave it on he might be able to hear you if he . . . if he gets too close.” Sounds of dissent poured into your ear, loud and overlapping, but you blocked them out, shutting off the speaker before you could second-guess yourself. 

Turning back to the bar, you prepared for impact, hoping to look more at ease than you were. You felt his presence as soon as he arrived, and then there was a hand at your waist, demanding, insistent, pushing you playfully into the bar. A pair of lips at your ear.

“Hello there,” he whispered, and you thought you might gag. Your instincts told you to whip around, ready to fight, to shove, to scream, to _get this man away from you_. But you were frozen. It was him; the man who had hoped to see you dead for his own gain. _Antibree Soar._

You turned slowly, and he leaned against the bar, trapping you in his arms as you faced him. You glanced down, trying to look appropriately flirtatious, and then back up through your eyelashes. It had the desired effect.

“What’s your name?” He whispered, placing a hand at your hip, holding you to the bar forcefully. It would probably bruise.

“Kaytari,” the name rolled off your tongue so easily; despite the pounding of your heart, you were slipping into your disguise like a pool of water.

“Beautiful name for a beautiful girl.” His breath was thick with the scent of alcohol, and the fog of it clouded your nose, but you smiled at him, biting your lip. It was easy to pretend when you thought about killing him. About getting him alone.

“I saw you dancing earlier,” he said, his other hand having found a place on the back of your thigh, tracing your bare skin with a light touch, and you shivered involuntarily. You tried not to think about the cams, the men on the ship who were watching these events unfold, but it was difficult to clear your mind in a moment like this one when so much had gone wrong already.

“You’re _very_ talented.” His whole body was against yours, and for a moment, you couldn’t breathe, the pressure toxic, the feeling of him worming its way into your skin. Casually, you placed your hands behind you, jumping up onto the bar, trying to escape the poison of his touch.

“Thank you,” you said, and he forced his way between your legs, the suggestive contact making your stomach roll. You needed to end this, as soon as possible. “You know, dancing isn’t my only talent.”

“Oh, really? Tell me more.” You didn’t let yourself think about it before you leaned in and kissed him.

“I’ll give her one thing,” Allecull said, throwing his comm down in frustration, “she’s a damn good actress.” The transport was rife with tension as the events unfolded, all eyes trained on the video feed of you and Antibree. Hux could feel the embarrassment of the other observation team members, and a few of the men turned away from the projection, uncomfortable watching such a heated moment between a superior officer and potential murderer. General Hux swallowed hard, but he wouldn’t let himself look away. You were sitting on the bar, Antibree between your legs, your hands on the back of his neck, _his hands_ all over you. His lips trailed from yours, down your jaw and to your neck, and you arched into his touch, pulling yourself even closer, a low moan escaping your lips like a wet dream from hell.

“Can’t you shut off the audio?” someone yelled to Allecull, and Hux put his hand out to stop him.

“If we turn off the comm, we lose all contact with the lieutenant. Leave it as is.” A sick anger wriggled into Hux’s mind, feelings of betrayal that he didn’t deserve but couldn’t stop pricking him like knives as he heard you whimper over the comm, and then say breathlessly, “if only there was somewhere we could go.” 

“Renaia, follow her,” Allecull ordered, watching closely as you slid from the bar, hand in hand with Soar. He pulled you around the edge of the club, towards a dark corner, and an exit guarded by two bouncers. Hux had seen layouts of the building; he knew what happened behind those doors. 

“They won’t let me back there on my own, sir,” Renaia responded anxiously, “I’ll keep watch outside.” With a twisting in his gut, Hux watched you disappear from view, out of reach of the holocams and into the hallway, and the crackle of your comm turned to an oppressive silence. Your mic had cut out.

Ren had been silent up until this point, watchful, leaning against the wall with barely-controlled rage, but he saw no use in trying to rein in his impulses now. The general argued with Allecull, trying to formulate some kind of plan to get the audio back online, or get you away from Antibree before he found out who you really were. Hux could argue all he wanted; Ren wasn’t going to sit around and wait.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Hux interrupted Allecull mid-sentence, addressing Ren, but he ignored him, heading to the exit of the ship, saber in hand. The exit led to an alleyway behind the club—disgusting and probably foul-smelling, Ren was grateful for his mask—but private as well. Despite the horde of people inside, the area behind the club was deserted. Ren didn’t know where he was going, but he walked on anyways, determined to find a path that led to you.

“Stop!” Hux ran out of the transport, not bothering to avoid the ancient puddles of water and shit and who-knew-what-else that littered the way. Ever the annoyance, the general ran in front of Ren, trying to block the exit. Ren didn’t bother to stop, flinging Hux into a wall and continuing out of the darkness of the alley. His rage was all-consuming; it had to be, if he let himself feel anything else, he’d be paralyzed.

“If you go in there, she’ll die.” Hux’s statement echoed down the alley. Ren paused.

“So we should wait around here for her to die, instead?” Ren knew he had to save his energy if he was going to get you out of there alive, but the temptation to end Hux’s miserable life right then was incredibly captivating.

“Don’t pretend you’re the only one concerned for her safety, Ren,” the general stood from the ground and joined him at the mouth of the alley, just deep enough in the shadows that they would not be seen if someone passed by. “You need to trust her.”

“Like you trust her, General?” The accusation made Ren livid, “with all of your spying? Please. Tell me, what has FN-2187 found out for you?”

“I trust the Lieutenant implicitly, Ren. It’s _you_ I don’t trust.”

“We can’t just sit here and do _nothing_.” 

“If you walk in there, you’ll cause mass panic. There’s at least one Resistance operative inside, what would stop him from opening fire the second he sees you?” Ren hated that Hux was making sense, but he didn’t plan on listening. He needed to see you, alive. Now.

“I’m going in there; you won’t convince me otherwise. She needs my help.” He began walking forward again, and this time the general did not try to stop him.

“I don’t think you really believe that, Ren. You won’t admit it, but your motives are selfish,” Hux turned to go back to the ship, but was frozen in place when Ren seized control.

“Selfish?” The air in the alley turned cold, and Ren’s anger was like ice in his veins. He walked to the general, standing between him and the ship before letting go.

“Yes, selfish. You don’t really think she needs you. You want to save her so she’ll owe you something. It’s disgusting.” The low light of the alley turned red, and the air filled with the buzzing sound of Ren’s saber. Unconsciously, General Hux backed into the wall.

“Take it back,” Ren couldn’t speak above a whisper, his head reeling from the oppressive wrath threatening to take over, and, at least for a moment, the general seemed truly frightened.

“Go ahead, Ren. It won’t stop me from being right about you.” Hux’s voice was even but Ren’s hand shook with the force of his grip on the hilt of his saber, and for a moment, he truly believed that he would kill him.

A small cough echoed down the alley, and Ren and Hux both turned to see Mitaka at the mouth of the ship.

“Excuse me sirs, but,” he paused, and Ren reluctantly holstered his weapon, “the lieutenant general is back online. The target has been eliminated.”

Back on the ship, Hux tried to shake the fear that lingered from his encounter with Ren as he watched your image on the projection in front of him. It had been worth it, he thought, to protect you from Ren’s rash behavior, but his hands were shaking, and he held on tightly to the control panel in front of him so that no one would notice. On the holoprojector he could see the image of you wandering the dance floor, waiting for Renaia to meet up with you before leaving the godforsaken club once and for all. 

“Sir,” one of the men in the transport said, and Hux looked up to see one of the ensigns gesture to a different image, “I’ve got eyes on the Resistance pilot, he’s moving. It looks like he’s headed in the same direction as the Lieutenant General.” Hux searched the scene and located the pilot, who was closing in on you from behind. He was close, much too close for comfort. How had they missed him before?

“Dameron is approaching, General. Get clear of him,” Allecull told you over the comm, and you tried to move deeper into the crowd, but your path was blocked and suddenly he reached out, grabbing you by the shoulder.

“Hey,” the pilot’s voice was loud and slurring, and he leaned in so that you could hear him over the music, “don’t I know you from somewhere?” You ducked your face towards his ear, making sure he couldn’t get a good look at you. Hux was sure that the Resistance would have your photo by now, it had been circulated pretty widely after the HoloNet caught hold of the story of your attempted assassination. But would the pilot recognize you? And what would he do if he did? You were so close to being out of harm's way and now this man could ruin it all.

“I don’t think so,” you yelled back, “I’m new here, this is my first day.”

“Oh, you’re a dancer? No shit, huh? I swear to god I know your face from somewhere . . . “ he trailed off, but his grip did not loosen. He was swaying a little where he stood; still, Hux had a sneaking suspicion that the pilot was only acting inebriated, and a rising panic crept up his shoulder blades.

“Get out of there now, General.” Allecull commanded you over the speaker, and you panicked, trying to pull yourself out of his grasp. Hux was desperate to see you do something, anything, to get away, to cause some kind of scene and escape to safety, but you stood your ground, closing your eyes and taking in a deep breath.

“You don’t know me.” The others didn’t notice the modification of your demeanor, but Hux certainly did. Your tone of voice had changed completely; you were no longer yelling, but speaking low and quiet, and you raised your other hand up to his face with a small wave, a familiar gesture. Almost immediately, Dameron let go of you, his face going slack. He blinked a few times—like someone had flashed a bright light in his eyes—and then found your face again, but there was no recognition in his expression. Hux watched the scene unfold, his anxieties from earlier compounding into something dense and heavy in the pit of his stomach. Holy shit. 

“He’s completely intoxicated,” somebody in the transport yelled with a high-pitched laugh, and then another voice rose up, saying “stars, I can’t believe that worked.” 

“I’m sorry, do I know y-” Dameron said, before he was cut off by Renaia, who ran up behind you, grabbing you around the waist with a squeal.

“There you are!” she yelled, remarkably good at acting less-than-sober, “It’s our song, girl, let’s go!” You followed her into the crowd, turning back to Dameron with an apologetic shrug, but he didn’t seem to notice you leaving. He was still dazed, standing in the middle of the dance floor for a moment, looking around like he had just forgotten something important, but couldn’t remember what it was. 

“On our way back to base,” you said over the comms, and the men in the transport let out a collective sigh of relief. Hux scanned the room, trying to see if anyone had noticed anything odd about your escape from Dameron, but they all seemed to accept that he had been drunk. It didn’t make any sense. Last he had heard, the force was closed off to you, except in rare instances. Had you and Ren been hiding your true progress from him? Hux didn’t know everything there was to know about the force, but he knew that a mind-trick like that would be difficult without a considerable amount of training.

You and Renaia entered the transport, and a few of the men cheered, congratulating the both of you on the success of the mission. You accepted the praise graciously, but your expression showed some inner turmoil. You broke free of the group as the transport prepared for lift off.

“I need to speak with you, General” you said quietly, brushing past him casually before walking into the storage area of the transport. Ren followed closely behind as you and Hux entered the little room; you must have signaled to him silently. The space was cramped, but private, and you slid to the floor, finding a seat among the boxes and holding your head in your hands.

“What happened?” Hux asked.

“You saw what happened.” You sounded far away, dazed, and it terrified him. He didn’t understand.

“You used the force,” Ren said. Hux had already known, but hearing it said out loud was jarring. Ren kneeled in front of you on the floor of the storage room, and something moved between the two of you that Hux could not identify.

“How did you do it?” Ren asked urgently; he seemed just as confused as Hux did, maybe even more so.

“I don’t know,” your voice broke on the last word, “I knew I had to try something. I can’t believe it worked.”

“So you feel it, then? The force?” Ren asked again, and you nodded into your hands before looking up to Hux.

“I never been able to use it before, not consciously. We’ve been practicing some more simple things, like sensing emotions, but nothing has really worked . . . until now.”

“Then what changed?” He asked, and you shook your head.

“I’m not sure, but,” you paused, “I think that my father might have something to do with it. There’s something you need to know about Allegiant General Pryde.”


	15. Secrets

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everybody! Thanks for your patience as I adjusted to social-distancing! This is . . . not my best work, and I may come back and make some changes to this chapter, but I really wanted to get something out for you all, especially because I keep ending chapters with cliff-hangers.
> 
> Moving forward, I'm setting a goal to post the next chapter in 2 weeks. I wanted to give you guys a heads up that updates may be coming more infrequently, because it's kind of hard to write when you feel like the world is ending, lol. I've found that writing shorter requests has been much easier for me, and I'll keep posting those on my other two works, Kylo Ren One-shots! and Armitage Hux One-shots! 
> 
> Thanks again for all your support, I love you guys!
> 
> Warnings: the reader smokes in this chapter, but I do not condone smoking (I'm asthmatic)

You were holding your head in your hands, trying to gather some strength, before you leaned back and took a deep breath. Ren was anxious to hear what you had to say, and more than a little annoyed that you had asked the general to be present. He had lost his chance to get rid of Hux, but he would undoubtedly be presented with another one sooner or later. It was only a matter of time.

“I’d kill for a cigarette,” you said with a small chuckle, and immediately the general reached into his greatcoat, pulling out his pack and a lighter. A look of surprise crossed your face, but you took the offered cigarette from his fingers. Hux leaned in close to you, reaching forward to light it, and your hands shook, but you smirked at him as you took a drag before letting the smoke curl out of your parted lips.

“I didn’t know you smoked, General.”

“There’s probably a lot of things you don’t know about me, Lieutenant,” Hux responded, an inside joke apparently—and a weak attempt to lighten the mood—because your face became shadowed, the focus of your gaze burning a whole in the floor.

“Not for long, General,” you said, and there was a deep and fathomless sadness evident on your face as the general leaned away from you, looking pained. Ren shifted with impatience, and you picked up on his restlessness, clearing your throat before you began.

“My mother worked for the Prydes before I was born, first as a maid, but later she became the head of the household. After she found out she was pregnant, she told the Prydes that she would have to leave. They said no.” You breathed deeply through your words, staring alternately at the floor, then the ceiling, but avoiding eye contact, instead taking another drag off the cigarette.

“Why would they do that?” Hux asked, trying to prompt you through your pause.

“She was an indentured servant. They owned her. I think she owed them something like 7,000 credits for room and board? She never could have paid it. They offered to take care of her until I was born, and they promised that they would allow both of us to stay with them after.”

“Seems generous,” Hux said, skeptically. The small space had filled with a smoky haze, but your hands had stopped shaking, and you had fallen into a rhythm as you talked. Still, Ren was growing impatient; what did all of this have to do with force suppression?

“Mira, Pryde’s wife, had always wanted a child, but she couldn’t have any of her own. It was a source of tension for her and Enric. I think he saw my mother’s situation as a solution to their problems. They essentially owned her, and he believed that they owned me too. After I was born, Mira took care of me while my parents worked. I saw her more than I saw my own mother. She must have sensed that they were … planning something. To get me away from Mira, she started to send me to work with my father once I was a little older.” For the first time since you began, tears pricked the corners of your eyes, and you blinked them away.

“He worked for the neighboring estate: a caff plantation, as a farmhand and mechanic. He was a good man. I hardly remember my mother now, but my father … he was everything to me. During those years, I was away from the Pryde house so often that I hardly saw my mother. I didn’t even notice when she started to get sick.

“I don’t really remember much of what happened after she died. I still lived with the Pryde’s, and I saw my father sometimes, but it was always very strange. One of them was in the room at all times, and my father made a lot of vague statements about ‘taking me away.’ I didn’t understand any of it; I had just lost my mother and I liked living with the Prydes. I didn’t know any better.

“One night, I was sleeping in my bedroom when I heard … something outside my window. I remember that one of the worker boys had told me stories about monsters that wandered the grounds at night trying to scare me, and I wanted to see if they were real. I went to check and,” now you were crying in earnest, your cigarette discarded on the floor of the ship, “it was awful. There were so many of them, their faces covered, and my father on the ground, Pryde standing over him with a blaster in his hand. I screamed, and Mira came in, I tried to get her to stop him but she placed her hand over my mouth to quiet me instead… She didn’t pull me away from the window, and I couldn’t look away.” Your head fell into your hands, and when you looked back up your eyes were rimmed with dark circles, the makeup that had been so carefully applied earlier spilling down your cheeks in thick black lines. 

“You can’t imagine what it was like, living with them after that. But I was a child; I had nowhere to go. The only family I had was dead, and the Prydes … I knew I had to be careful around them.” Ren had known that you were frightened of the allegiant general, but he had never imagined something like this. A morbid kind of nausea found its way into the back of his throat.

“What does this have to do with your connection to the force?” The general asked gently, and you wiped the tears away with the back of your hand before Hux continued, “I want you to know that I believe you, Lieutenant. But if Pryde really is cutting off your connection to the force, we need to figure out how. It would be helpful to know why.”

“You don’t know Pryde like I do, General. He didn’t need a reason; it was always about control, with him. When I lived there …” you whispered, and Ren could feel you remembering—so many instances flooding your mind that had seemed inconsequential or innocuous that suddenly held a greater weight. “When I lived there, he kept me on a tight leash. I did what I could to try and get away, but none of my attempts really worked, not until the Order.”

“Why do you think that is?” the general asked. Ren knew he was hoping to solve the puzzle, hoping to figure out the plot in order to gain your favor. _Please_ , he had accused Ren of hoping to save you, but Hux was no better.

“Because he has eyes here,” you said it so matter-of-factly, and Ren paused. What had he been missing?

“Eyes? Who?” Hux was skeptical once again, already trying to figure out which of his men had split loyalties.

“I’m not sure, but it should be easy enough to find out now,” you brushed off the general’s concerns before turning to Ren, pulling your knees into your chest, “now, tell us what you know about force suppression.”

“There isn’t much to say,” Ren started, keenly aware of your attention on him, and Hux’s as well. This was not information he wanted the general to have. “It’s a power that some force users exercise against others to cut off their connection to the force. It’s difficult to accomplish, and can be deadly.”

“Deadly?” You were concerned, for obvious reasons.

“Once you become reliant on the force, losing that connection is devastating.”

“But Pryde isn’t force sensitive,” you said, “and my connection to the force has nothing to do with proximity to him.” The three of you sat in silence for a moment, trying to work around the problem.

“Wait,” Hux said, then, breaking the silence, “I think I might know how Pryde did it. Where are your things, Lieutenant?” You stood, moving to your feet quickly and out the door, propelled by the sound of urgency in the general’s voice.

“What’s this about, General?” Ren asked, trying to find answers in the general’s mind, but Hux had put up barriers to Ren’s power, and he knew he wouldn’t be able to break them down before you returned.

“I have it here,” you said, walking back in through the door, “why do you need it?”

“Your necklace, the one from the Prydes, is it in here?” You began digging through the pockets, before finding it and placing it in the general’s gloved palm.

“A very long time ago, my father was part of a division of the Directorate—a secret taskforce working to limit the powers of force sensitives, as a failsafe.”

“I’ve never heard about anything like that,” Ren said, and Hux looked up smugly.

“You wouldn’t have, it was kept very private so that the information wouldn’t fall into the _wrong hands_.”

“How does it work, then?” You asked, looking at the necklace.

“It didn’t,” Hux responded. He was studying the item too: a simple chain with a small stone in the center. It looked worthless, in Ren’s opinion, less than worthless. Could it be true that something so inconsequential could make someone like him … powerless? “They found an element that they believed could dampen the powers of force sensitives, but everything they tried had little effect on those trained with the force and the group disbanded as soon as the Supreme Leader came into power.”

“But I was untrained when Pryde found me,” you said, “any connection to the force wouldn’t have manifested for me until later. Maybe that’s what made the difference. How long ago did your father work on this?”

“I don’t remember, exactly, but it was before I officially joined the Order,” Hux responded, “I would sometimes listen in on my father’s meetings, when I thought he wouldn’t notice.” You flinched away from the general, your eyes filling with disbelief and sadness at the mention of his childhood. You had been right before, it seemed; the general could no longer keep secrets from you.

You cleared your throat, trying to shake away the general’s memories before speaking, “It’s possible that they were working on this around the same time that I moved in with the Prydes.” The information was fitting together now rapidly, and Ren looked up; he had found the last piece.

“You were the failsafe,” he said, and you understood him, taking the thoughts straight from his head.

“That’s why Pryde wanted me so badly, not some other child. He must have known about my mother’s force sensitivity, and he wanted someone with that same power loyal to him in case his position was threatened. But how could I be useful to him without training?”

“You do have training, though,” Hux said, “you’re a soldier. That’s why Pryde let go to the Academy. If you couldn’t be trained in the force without his knowledge, at least you could be trained in combat.” A silence fell over the room, the weight of the truth heavy on each of your shoulders.

“So then where does that leave us?” You took the necklace from the general’s hands twisting it between your fingers.

“We’ll continue with your training,” Ren said, “if the Allegiant General tries to use you against me or the Supreme Leader, then you’ll be ready.”

“We know his plan,” Hux said, hoping to give you some assurance, “so we’ll know if he decides to move. But for now, there’s not much we can do. You said Pryde has eyes here, which means that we’ll need to act as if everything is normal.”

“We should start with getting out of this damn closet,” you said with a small chuckle, and then “Ren, why don’t you leave first?” 

Hux was surprised at this turn of events, but grateful as well. After the confrontation with Ren in the alley, he was glad to have a few moments alone with you. “Hey, come here,” you said as the door closed, pulling him closer.

“Give me your wrist,” you took his hand in yours and then rolled up the sleeve of his uniform, wrapping the necklace twice around his wrist before securing the clasp. 

“I want you to have this,” you said, holding his hand in yours, “it won’t keep Ren out of your head, but this way you can have some privacy while I learn to control myself.” Your smile was sad, and Hux couldn’t move, afraid to do or say the wrong thing. No one had ever given him a gift before.

“What if I don’t want privacy?” he whispered, and you ran a finger up his arm, and smiled.

“Then I guess you’ll have to talk to me, like a normal person would.” You adjust his sleeve back down, the back of your thumb running across the inside of his wrist. You moved, heading for the door, but Hux wasn’t ready to be alone just yet.

“I’m sorry about your father.” He said, and you paused, turning back to him.

“And I’m sorry about yours, General. You deserved better.”

Walking out of the storage room and back into the main area of the ship was like running into a wall, and you stumbled back for a moment, overwhelmed by the flood of emotions and thoughts that came at you rapid-fire from all angles. In the closet, with Ren and the general, you could almost shut it out, but now the hum of other peoples’ thoughts in your mind was loud and disorienting.

“Hey,” Mitaka appeared at your side, “what did the general want, and the commander?” You had to think of something quick, but it was so damn _hard_ with the noise inside your head. You reached out to Mitaka, steadying yourself on his shoulder, and for a moment, the emotional buzz quieted as you tuned into him directly. A flood of concern rushed through you: Mitaka’s own concern for your well-being.

“Are you alright?” he asked, holding you steady, and the increased contact gave you extra focus.

“I’m fine, Doe, just a little dizzy,” you said. Mitaka tried to pull you to a seat, but you stayed in place. At least on the edge of the transport you had a little relief—moving between the others on the ship would be overwhelming in your current state. Maybe you should have kept the necklace.

“The general reprimanded me for disobeying orders, and for taking Soar on by myself,” you said, forming the lie on the spot, “and the commander wanted information on Dameron. He’s planning on hunting the pilot down.” 

The ship jolted as it touched down in the hangar of the Finalizer, and Mitaka kept his arm around you as he prepared to disembark, your bag over his other shoulder. You let him lead you off the ship, vaguely aware that Ren and Hux were close behind. You closed your eyes against the bright lights of the hangar and leaned more heavily on Mitaka’s shoulder.

“What the hell?” The question was mumbled, and you felt it in your head more than in your body as the general brushed past you.

“Oh my god,” Mitaka shook you gently, and you opened your eyes to see what the commotion was, “what are they doing here?”

The six dark clad figures stood in the middle of the hangar, their faces masked, their hands resting idly on their various weapons. The general approached, followed closely by Ren, and you pulled Mitaka to a halt, curious to see what would happen.

“What are you doing here?” the general asked, but the figures ignored him, each falling to one knee as Ren approached.

“Master,” one of them spoke, but you couldn’t identify which of them it was, “the Supreme Leader sent for us. We are here to aid you in your training.”

“Rise,” Ren commanded, and they obeyed, each standing to their full height. They were conversing silently, through the force, but you could hear it clearly as if they were speaking aloud, each mind focused on one question: _who?_

Your stomach rolled. They weren’t here just to help Ren train, they were here to help Ren train _you_. Ren’s thoughts moved to you with a little reluctance, and you watched as the six black masks turned in unison, their invisible gazes burning into you. You flinched, keenly aware of how you must look: still in your costume from the club, tear tracks running down your face, barely able to stand on your own. This was not an ideal first impression. 


	16. Time Off

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are getting pretty close to the end here, thanks to all of you who have stuck around this long! As far as warnings go for this chapter, there’s violence against the reader character. Let me know what you think 🥰

All the air in your lungs flooded out in a gush as you were slammed to the ground, immediately pinned in place by a thick, meaty forearm. The weight of it on your sternum cut off your air supply, and stars flashed across your vision as you tried to force yourself to breathe. There was no point in struggling, not when he had you like this, but you threw your head back in frustration anyways, fighting the sting of tears that pricked at your eyes from another humiliating defeat.

“Again,” you recognized the voice as Ren’s, although it was difficult to differentiate when all of the Knights wore masks, their voices more or less the same through the modulators. Ushar stood, finally getting off of you, tireless as the rest of them, ready for another round. You, however, lingered on the floor, still trying to recover from having the wind knocked out of you. There’s a low murmuring from the other Knights as they spectate, a silent conversation, laden with doubt, taking place through the force. They knew you could hear them; they just didn’t care. 

You crawled back onto your feet, swaying slightly. This could go on all day, in a million different ways: you against two of the Knights, thrown around like a rag doll; you, fighting blindfolded while they took turns coming at you, always from the direction you least expected it; you, without a weapon as they beat you with a staff, expecting you to dodge their blows. And then, if you were lucky, you against Ren, a saber duel only once you were exhausted to the point of collapse, the judgemental glares of the Knights criticizing your every move. It was too much. You couldn’t take it anymore.

Ushar was already in a fighting stance, waiting for you to join him, but you took your sweet time, feeling hopeless. All this training was pointless. It had been going on for weeks, and to what end? You were no better than you had been before. In fact, it was possible that you had gotten worse.

“Leave us,” Ren spoke again, and the Knights hesitated for only a moment before filing out obediently. Your grumbling thoughts had made you oblivious to the tension in the room, and you cursed yourself silently for not schooling them better. All of them had heard your complaints, and now Ren would be forced to deal with your insubordination. As they filed out, the Knights' own minds turned to memories of punishments that they had all endured at one time or another for disobeying Ren. At least now you knew what to expect.

The door to the training room closed, you and Ren were left alone for the first time since the Knights had arrived. Against your will, the hard exterior you had developed slipped, and a single, agonized gasp escaped your lips before you stifled it. You wouldn’t cry. Not right now.

Ren stalked closer to you, silently, and suddenly you felt a very real stab of fear as you looked into the dark, yawning cavern of his mask. Ren stopped.

“I’m sorry, okay?” you said, and Ren listened silently, “I know that I need to watch my thoughts. But I’m trying so hard to-”

“Are you?” The unsympathetic timbre of his voice echoed through the synthesizer and interrupted your apology. You paused, shocked. 

“ _Are you kidding me_?” You yelled, a thick wave of anger rushing through you, every feeling of weakness and disappointment from the last few weeks flooding into your system, and you directed it at the only available target. “How can you say that to me? How dare you, Ren, I-”

“What do you want from me, Lieutenant?” he interrupted you again, and you felt yourself draw blood from your lip with the force it took to bite back any kind of reply, “for me to tell you that what I’m asking of you is impossible? Special treatment? You are not succeeding because you are not allowing yourself to succeed.”

“Take off the mask, Ren,” your voice was shaking with anger, but your demand was cold and quiet now, “take off the mask and look me in the eye if you’re going to talk to me that way.” He made no move to do as you asked, staring you down silently instead. You refused to wait any longer, moving to the door and grabbing your things in a rush. You didn’t have to take this.

“Where are you going?” he asked, but he stayed where he was, unwilling to stop you from leaving. Your righteous anger was all-consuming; you wouldn’t have cared if he threw you into a wall or threatened you with his saber. He wasn’t going to keep you here; you were sick at the sight of him. 

“To do my job, Ren,” you said, full of rage and bitterness with no end in sight, “the one that I’m _actually_ good at.” 

The cup of coffee hit the general’s desk with a loud thunk, and Hux traced from the arm holding the cup up to your face. It was unexpected for you to be here in his office with him. He hadn’t seen you alone in days; every second of your time had been occupied with meetings or training. He’d lived off of rare glances of you, either walking with one of the Knights or performing your duties from afar. 

“It’s very early,” you said; there was a smile on your face, but a hard, cool anger beneath it, and shadows under your eyes, “do you ever rest, General?”

“I could say the same to you, Lieutenant.” Hux chose to keep his more divisive thoughts to himself. He could tell without asking that your training was taking a toll, but he wanted to give you a chance to express your own frustrations first.

“I’ve been kept very busy the past few days,” you said, and there was more than a hint of bitterness present. 

“How has the training been?” Hux asked, now that the subject had been broached. This was it, finally he had a chance to see how you truly felt about Ren and this whole _situation._ He only hoped that you would be honest with him—that you would feel safe enough to be honest with him. You stayed quiet for a moment, thinking, but then you set down your own coffee on his desk and begin to work at the uniform at your sleeve, rolling it up a little ways. Hux let out a small gasp when he saw it: a dark, mottled bruise taking up space on more than half of your forearm, and he felt an echoing pain in his own body at the sight. He knew what it was like to be marked like that. Injuries of this nature didn’t come by accident.

“They’re all over,” you said, and Hux reached out gently, taking your arm in his hands, examining the bruise.

“How did this happen?” he asked, and you swallowed hard, trembling at his touch despite the care he was taking to avoid the area around the tender skin.

“The training is more difficult than I thought it would be,” you said, and your voice broke before you could control it, “the Knights are very disciplined and I . . . I guess I’m just not used to losing.”

“Does Ren know about this?” Hux was full of a bright, feverish rage now. He really wanted to know if Ren had caused this injury, and the others like it, but it seemed that you were on the edge of a break down, and Hux didn’t want to risk the chance of him taking his anger out on you.

“Ren can’t give me special treatment,” you said, but the defense was weak, “it would reflect poorly on him.” Hux scoffed in response, the only hint of exasperation he’d let leak into this conversation. His anger was forgotten when he felt the first tear fall from your face and onto the back of his gloved hand.

“Lieutenant?” Hux said, and you took a shuddering breath as he led you to take a seat in his chair.

“I’m sorry about this,” you said as you lowered yourself down on unsteady legs, “I just didn’t realize that it would be this . . . hard.” Hux listened as you spoke but his eyes were on the bruise. At that moment, he didn’t really care if Ren killed him. He needed to get you out of there.

“I know this isn’t the ideal time, Lieutenant, but I was actually just about to come find you,” Hux said, pulling his hand away from your arm and standing, moving to the other side of his desk. He knew the necklace that you had given him would provide some kind of barrier for your force sensitivity, but he didn’t want to take any chances. “I have some business to take care of on Irraide, and it’s rather urgent. I’m certain that I’ll need some kind of backup, and you are my first choice. Would you be interested?”

“What kind of business?” you asked, rolling your sleeve back into place, momentarily distracted from your troubles, and Hux seized the opportunity, hoping to draw you in.

“If you accept I’ll fill you in on the specifics later, of course, but there’s a politician that the Order has had eyes on for many years—one that no one has managed to eliminate—and we’ve received reports that he’s just resurfaced.”

“Does this mean that I’ll get to see the greatest sniper in the Order at work?” You leaned forward on your elbows, holding your face in your hands with a sly smile on your lips; a complete transformation from the dejected girl you were moments ago. 

“So, you’ll come?” he asked, shuffling through documents on his datapad, hoping to look indifferent, which was incredibly difficult. It would be good to have you away from the ship, even for just one day, without watching eyes or imminent threats. 

“How long do you think it will take?” He could hear how eager you were; it was clear that you wanted to go with him, but there’s something keeping you here, and he knew that _something_ was Ren.

“No more than a day.”

“I think that would be alright,” you were smiling openly now, excited at the prospect of an adventure, of time away from Ren and the Knights and the expectations of your training. 

“We’ll need to leave as soon as possible. I’ll alert Lieutenant Mitaka and Captain Phasma that we’ll both be off-base.” He was already on his way out the door, but you were still at his desk, hesitant.

“Do you think,” you started, avoiding his gaze, “do you think I should go check with Ren, just to make sure that this is alright?” 

“Is that what you want to do, Lieutenant?” Hux couldn’t outright defy Ren right now. He knew he wouldn’t be able to convince you that making Ren aware of your departure would be a bad idea—that it would only lead to violence, but since you were already thinking about leaving without talking to him first, maybe you would come to the correct conclusion on your own.

“I think . . . I think I’ll just send him an alert as well,” you said, “since we’ll only be gone for a day,” and Hux was relieved. If he could get you off the ship quickly enough, he wouldn’t have to worry about Ren or his violence until he returned to the ship, and at least for a moment he would know that you were safe—with him.

“If that’s what you think is best,” Hux said, feigning nonchalance, but you seemed emboldened, as if you had only been waiting for permission.

“Okay, then let’s go.”

Kane Cheepres sat at his desk across from you and the general, flipping through information on his data pad in silence, and you bounced your leg with nervous anticipation. Part of you was excited to be leaving the ship—helping the general with this mission would certainly be interesting, and you had never visited Irriade before, but at least some of the fidgeting stemmed from guilt. Was it wrong to leave the ship without telling Ren first?

Maybe it was unfair, but your anger for him had not diminished in the short time since your argument. If he couldn’t understand the sacrifices you were making to train and to work, then what was the point? It was like he was a different person, now, and you hated it, hated that he had begun to treat you like everyone else. 

Maybe that’s what all your anger was about: you missed him—or, more accurately—you missed the person that he was when no one else was around. He always wore the mask lately, and you were beginning to forget the Ren that you knew. On the bright side, if he was angry enough with you when you returned to the ship he’d probably have to talk to you, alone, and maybe you’d see that side of him again. A small consolation.

“You’ll be traveling as Valbry Dansen and Niktal Haws,” Kane said, handing you and the general your falsified credentials in turn, “a recently-engaged couple traveling through Irraide on the way to the Harvoike sector to announce your upcoming wedding to your parents,” he looked at you when he spoke, producing a small ring box from underneath his desk. Hesitantly, you reached for it, the fabric covering the box smooth against your fingers, before prying it open. The ring inside was breathtaking, the large stone in the center was a deep blue that glinted in the light of Kane’s office.

“Wow,” you exhaled the word gently, before slipping the ring onto your finger, “it’s lovely.”

“It’s also fake,” Kane replied matter-of-factly, “so don’t worry too much about losing it. For travel, we’ll have a transport drop you off discreetly on Epher, and from there you’ll secure travel to Irraide. In terms of lodging-”

“Lodging?” You couldn’t help but interrupt, after all, you were already nervous about being away from the ship for a day; if this mission was going to take any longer than that, you’d have to tell Ren beforehand, or choose to stay behind. “I was under the impression we wouldn’t be there for very long.”

Irraide is a nocturnal society,” Kane explained, unperturbed by your interruption, “you’ll be arriving about midday—when everyone else will be asleep—and by some miracle, I was able to secure two rooms, for propriety’s sake.” 

“Why so difficult?” You could have felt stupid for asking all these questions, but Kane didn’t seem to mind, and if the general already knew all of this information, he was keeping silent.

“The reason the target has resurfaced now is because Irraide is holding its recurrent fertility festival, in honor of Soz, the goddess of the moon. Apparently he never misses it.”

“Fertility festival?” General Hux asked. At least that seemed to be news to him as well, and against your will, a blush rose to your cheeks. 

“It’s customary for newly-weds and other couples to pass through. It’s an excellent explanation for your presence,” Kane said with a sniff, “is there anything that we’ve failed to cover?” 

“I don’t believe so, Captain,” Hux said, standing from his chair, and you followed suit.

“Excellent, everything should be prepared for you in your ship, including civilian clothing and the weapon you requested.” Kane urged you from his office with salute, and you and Hux entered the corridor together, on the way to the hangar. As nervous as you were before, you felt more eager now, a slight hop in your step as you walked. This would be a chance for an adventure, a chance to experience something new. And maybe, you hoped, a chance to prove to yourself that—even after your recent shortcomings—you could do something right.

“I’m looking for the Lieutenant General,” Ren watched as Mitaka jumped at the sound of his voice, shaking as he turned to face him. He trembled like a leaf, mind fraught with fear and Ren was forced to remember that he had felt the same emotion echo from your thoughts only a few hours ago. 

“She and General Hux left on a mission together at 600 hours,” Mitaka said, avoiding eye contact, “they are headed to Irraide, I believe.” He waited to see how Ren would react, unable to stop his hands from quaking, but Ren would not let himself show any anger, not yet. He needed some more information first.

“For how long?” he asked, resting his hand gently on his saber, removing it from its sheath with a soft tug, and he felt everyone on the bridge flinch in suspense.

“The general was not specific in his time frame,” Mitaka said, eyes on the weapon, “most likely they should return within a day, but there is a possibility that their mission could take longer.”

Ren ignited his saber, satisfied that he had all the information he needed, and brought it down with a slash, severing the control panel behind Mitaka in two. Sparks flew from the melted piece of machinery, and the bridge fell silent, everyone waiting for his next strike, until Ren deactivated his saber. He’d like to enact more damage, to release the rage coloring his vision in an orange haze, but there was little point in that. The repair would likely be done before the general returned. No, he’d save his anger for when Hux was back on board.

Ren stalked out of the command room and headed in the direction of his quarters, guilt settling in his stomach like a rock. Was this his fault? If he had not spoken to you like that in the training room, would you still have left with the general?

The conflict inside of him raged, regret and anger mixing viciously, tearing him apart. He had to do it, he knew. Even if the Knights weren’t physically present, they were almost always listening, and he couldn’t let anyone see his weaknesses. He couldn’t favor you over the others. But he also couldn’t lose you. Not to the general. 

The Knights approached, drawn to Ren’s anger. They bowed in greeting, and Ren waved off the gesture with his hand. He knew why they had come, could hear their intent buzzing around through the force.

“Where is the girl?” Vicrul was the one who spoke, finally, and Ren turned to face them.

“The lieutenant has left with the general to Irraide. She will return shortly to resume her training.” He kept his tone even but his true feelings were more difficult to hide.

“We know,” Vicrul said, but not about your departure. Of course they knew how Ren truly felt about you. They were inside his head.

“That’s none of your concern,” he told them, but they would not be dismissed so easily.

“She has made you weak,” Cardo spoke this time, voice full of vitriol. Ren reached out and silenced him, cutting off his air supply.

“Do I seem weak to you now?” he asked, and none of them dared to respond, the raw power emanating from him silencing their doubts. Ren threw Cardo back, down the hallway and into a wall, the durasteel denting underneath the force of the impact.

“I have told you once that this is none of your concern,” he warned the others, “do not make me repeat myself again.” The Knights retreated, collecting Cardo off the ground and leaving Ren alone once more.

He reached his quarters and removed his mask, thoughts still occupied by his confrontation with his Knights. Cardo was wrong. You did not make him weak. His weakness, he knew now, stemmed from uncertainty, from this conflict with the general. He needed to know if you wanted him. If he knew that you returned his feelings, he would be free of the doubts that held him back. He would have to tell you the truth, as soon as you returned to the ship. It was the only way. 


	17. Predictions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is late! I've been dealing with a lot of doubt—about my writing, this story, and general fears of disappointing people. I'm not saying this because I want any kind of validation or praise, I'm just trying to be more honest with people because I hope you all know that it's okay to feel these things, too. It's okay if you are having a hard time. Be kind to yourselves!
> 
> As far as announcements go, this is a Hux-heavy chapter, so sorry about that for all the Ren fans. He will be back soon. Warnings for general horniness and some angst, I guess? Also, I'm taking requests again! You can send them to me on tumblr, or you can comment them somewhere on the Kylo Ren Oneshots or Armitage Hux Oneshots. Thanks!

General Hux was beginning to understand why Irraide was a nocturnal society. The road through the capital city was a ghost town, the vendors along the side of the street shut tight, and there was no shade to be found anywhere as the two of you walked in search of your lodgings. The sun was unrepentant in its heat, beating down like it hated him in particular, and the feeling was mutual. If Hux had known that it was going to be this bad, he would have brought an umbrella.

“I think,” you said, stopping for a moment and fanning yourself with your hand,” the place we’re looking for is just up here on the right.” Your face was red and shiny with perspiration as you glared against the sun, trying to see into the distance, and Hux was sure he looked much worse. Maybe bringing you with him was a bad idea. You began moving again, determined to get out of the heat as quickly as possible.

The lobby of the hotel was cool and dark—an immediate improvement—and almost as empty as the street outside. It was a nice space, filled with low couches and metallic lanterns, none of which were lit. Hux wouldn’t have cared if it were some kind of trash-filled hovel. He was finally out of the sun. 

“Hello!” A voice called out from a desk near the door, and Hux made his approach towards the woman, who stood when you entered, flashing a forced smile. “You must be the Haws, welcome to Belarian, the crown jewel of Irraide,” she said as she shuffled through stacks of flimsi on the desk, searching for the correct documents, and handed the general a small key.

“You’ll find your lodgings on the highest floor. Lifts are down the hall and on your left. Festivities will begin tomorrow at moonrise. We hope you enjoy your stay!” She finished imparting the information and immediately sat back down, dropping the chipper persona. You looked to Hux, confusion written all over your face. She had only given you one key.

“I’m sorry but we had two rooms reserved,” you said gingerly, and the woman looked up again, annoyed.

“That’s impossible. There was only one room available when the reservation was made. You could try somewhere else.” She emphasized her disinterest by retrieving a data pad from the desk, raising it to a height that would block both of you from her view. You turned back to the general and shrugged your shoulders.

“I guess it’s fine,” you whispered, adjusting your bag and walking towards the lifts as the woman had directed. He may have been out of the sun, but General Hux was sweating once again. Now he _really_ regretted bringing you with him; this whole situation was bound to be unprecedentedly awkward. The lift ride was quiet and short, and Hux had to stop himself from bouncing from foot to foot, full of nervous energy. You found your room without much trouble and, unable to avoid it any longer, Hux inserted the key and turned it in the lock, opening the door to the room you would be sharing.

“Huh,” you said as you entered, looking around the small space, “could be worse.” The room—like the lobby—was dark and cool, and fairly small. There was little in the way of furniture: a night stand with a lantern on it, and a small chest for clothing. Two doors sat on the other side of the room; he assumed one was for a closet and the other led to the refresher. Thick blue curtains covered what Hux guessed was a window, and matching fabric was draped over the bed. Singular. _Shit._

“According to my data pad, moonrise should be happening in about seven hours, and we should probably rest,” you said, setting down your bag and finding a seat on the edge of the bed, “do you mind if I use the refresher first?” You looked up at him, apparently unphased by this turn of events, and Hux could only nod in response, his throat tight, and he waited as you walked through the door on the other end of the room, taking your bag with you before he dared to breathe again.

In an uncharacteristic display of anxiety, Hux found himself pacing across the small area of the room that was not taken up by the bed. He didn’t have many options, but he ran through each of them anyways, hoping to find a solution that wouldn’t end with him making a fool of himself. He could stay awake and let you rest. He’d gone without sleep for longer periods of time, but he couldn’t deny the exhaustion already sitting heavy on his shoulders. He had been tired before, certainly, but the heat had made it worse, and he needed to be at his best if he was going to eliminate the target as planned. He could try to find somewhere else, but it was unlikely anything would be available, and it would mean going back out into the hellish sunshine. 

He’d sleep on the floor. That would be the best option; allow him to rest without forcing any kind of discomfort on himself or on you. 

“All done,” the refresher door opened, and you walked back into the room, hair falling wet over one of the shoulders of the black shirt you had been given to sleep in. Your legs were covered as well, and probably for the best, although Hux was curious to see what other marks Ren and his Knights had left. Maybe the anger it would cause would wipe away some of his discomfort. “It’s all yours.”

Hux made his way to the refresher, trying to calm himself with some deep breathing. He shouldn’t be panicking this much. It was just a regular mission. You were just another subordinate. Except that it wasn’t. And you weren’t.

He turned on the sanisteam, leaving the water cold, and then stepped into the stream, letting it fall against his face and hoping it would wash away more than just the sweat and grime of travel. He wouldn’t think of you, sitting on the bed, stretched out over the covers, waiting for him. He wouldn’t think about that. He would think about something else. Literally _anything_ else. Protocol droids. The plans for Starkiller Base. The exact steps he would take to assemble and disassemble his blaster rifle. None of it worked. You stayed on his mind.

After an unprecedentedly _long_ time, Hux finally emerged from the refresher, finding you exactly as he had imagined you would look: stretched out on one side of the bed, scrolling absentmindedly through something on your data pad. You glanced at him quickly, before returning your eyes to the screen. He still couldn’t understand how none of this bothered you. Hux shuffled awkwardly to the edge of the bed and pulled a pillow off in a fist before dropping it on the ground. 

“What are you doing?” you asked, looking up at him with curious eyes. Hux did not want to explain himself, but he knew he couldn’t avoid it.

“You can take the bed, Lieutenant,” he said, and you rolled your eyes, crawling across the mattress towards him. You moved into a sitting position, folding your legs over each other and supporting your head with one fist. Apparently Hux wasn’t going to get away with his plan without some kind of pushback.

“General, there’s plenty of room for two of us here, and I don’t mind sharing,” you began, “but if that would bother you, then I should be the one to sleep on the floor. Since you’ll be doing most of the work tomorrow.” There’s a stubborn set to your brow, and Hux paused, unsure how to respond. He wasn’t going to force you onto the floor for his sake, but he also didn’t want to argue with you about the pros and cons of sharing. You could see his resolve crumbling, and you moved back to the other side of the bed, patting it with one hand. An invitation.

“If you’re sure it’s not an issue,” he said, placing the pillow back on the mattress and laying down. The bed was large enough that he could rest comfortably without touching you, or even coming close, thankfully, but he’s not willing to relax just yet. Satisfied, you lay back on top of the blanket, closing your eyes. The room was warm enough still that you could sleep above the covers, and he’s glad because there’s already an acute sense of claustrophobia sharing a space like this.

Hux knew that he should rest, but he found himself looking at you instead. You were asleep, or at least it looked like you were—your face relaxed an untroubled, one arm resting across your abdomen, rising and falling with your slow deep breaths. Hux has never been able to fall asleep that easily, but he’s not surprised that you could; you had a right to be tired after everything you’d been dealing with. Seeing you this way allowed him to relax as well, and he's lost in thought, drifting in and out of consciousness.

Why was he so afraid of this? Not just _this_ but being with you in any capacity. It’s not like there hadn’t been other women, although that had been a very long time ago, when he was younger—and those had been transactional, business-like experiences. He had never shared a bed with someone before. 

For the first time, Hux was forced to confront his feelings for you head-on. Admiring you from afar was one thing, and working with you was another, but _this_ , this was different. This was sacred. Hux had never been comfortable with the idea of love. It always felt . . . manipulative. Anyone who had showed any kind of care for him always wanted something from him. And now that he’s this close to something that _could_ be love . . . what if he ruined it? What if he lost it? He had always known that it was possible that you didn’t feel the same way, but now he has to wonder what that rejection would do to him. How would he come back from it.

None of these thoughts were easy, but the discomfort was distant, blurred by the haze of sleep. These, Hux thought, were problems for another time. For now, he needed to rest. 

As much as you hated it in the beginning, you had to admit that Irraide was beautiful, once the sun had gone down. You woke up just in time to watch the it set outside the window of your room, filling you with a glittering excitement, and then you and the general were off to participate in the festivities before carrying out your plan of attack.

The night was cool on your skin, and a breeze blew by, raising goosebumps on your arms as you exited the hotel. The dress that had been provided to you was long and loose, covering your arms and legs, but the material was thin and fluttered in the wind, pushing its way up against your skin and wrapping around your legs. All around you, the streets were filled with people, all looking as eager and excited as you felt. You and the general merged with the group, headed to the city’s main thoroughfare, where the real party was taking place.

The street was lined with lanterns that guided the way deeper into the city, and as you walked the buildings grew taller and more elaborate. You lifted your gaze skyward, staring at the structures as they reached towards the moon. The whole galaxy, all the stars in the system, were made invisible by its light, impossibly bright and bathing the everything below in a golden glow. You wanted this memory burned into your mind, and you drank in every detail, so focused that you lost your footing, stumbling over the uneven streets and knocking into the man ahead of you. You righted yourself, flashing an embarrassed look at the general, and he reached out to you, gingerly sneaking a hand around your waist.

“Don’t worry dear,” he said, “ I’ll watch where we're going.” You froze for a moment, before you remembered. You were engaged. Well, _Valbry_ was engaged, and you were supposed to be her. Normally, you took pride in your acting abilities, but there was something about the way the general’s hand pressed into your side that made you feel too much like yourself—almost exposed somehow, and you could no longer focus on the beautiful sights around you, totally present.

Hux’s hand slipped gently away from you, and you looked up at him. He’s concerned, you could see, but you shook your head minutely, moving closer into the crook of his arm. You could do this. It was all an act. Part of a disguise, just another mission. So why was your heart racing?

You adjusted to the feeling of being Valbry, and the gentle pressure of the general’s body against yours, as you approached the center of the city. The walkway was lined with living statues, real people dripping in gold, grouped together on pedestals and depicting stories and people you had never heard of: _Soz Granting the Final Wish_ , _Kendra and Her Sword_ , _The Attack of Gris and His Nine_. Similarly painted people were moving through the crowd handing out small golden circlets to the guests.

“For you,” one said, as she approached, forcing a small golden band into your hand, “Soz honors all her daughters!” You admired the thin golden crown for a moment before placing it on your head, where it rested, surprisingly heavy.

“How do I look?” you asked, turning to the general with a flirtatious smile.

“Regal,” he responded, but you didn’t think he was acting. And the blush that spread over your face wasn’t an act either.

The festival was, in a word, dreamlike, like your feet barely touched the ground as you and the general wandered through the many streets. There were dancers, plays, street-performers and magicians everywhere you looked, each act more incredible than the last, and the food—you had never tasted anything like it. The meals on the _Finalizer_ were fine, but now you were sure everything you ate from this point on would taste like dirt in comparison, and you sampled everything that you saw.

The night drew longer, and you began to feel the ache in your legs and your feet. Sensing your discomfort, Hux decided that you should split up, as he went in search of some fantastic smelling dessert you had seen another couple devouring, and you stayed in a little courtyard, resting your legs. It was a small area, about half the size of the hotel room you were staying in, and almost completely obscured from the main road by large, wild plants with leaves that rustled against each other despite the stillness of the air. 

You adjusted your shoes, wincing as they rubbed against the blisters you were sure had already formed, when you heard the sound of footsteps enter the small space.

“That was fast,” you said, looking up, but it was not the general in front of you. The woman who had entered stayed silent, studying you with a small frown.

“Hello child,” she said as she approached. Her skin was tan and smooth, and dotted with freckles, but despite her youthful appearance, you got the feeling that she was much older than she looked. Her form was covered completely in a dress made of thick silver fabric that shrouded her shape, but the way she moved spoke to power and strength. These details you took in with only passing interest; her eyes were certainly the most striking feature. Each was decorated with a painted design, three prongs slashed over her skin like rays of light, the left in white, and the right in black, which mirrored her actual eyes. One was entirely dark, and the other milky. You weren’t sure if she could see out of either of them.

“May I sit?” she asked, staring at you unblinking, and you nodded before you considered her possible blindness. Apparently she could see, because she joined you on the bench, resting her hands behind her and leaning back.

“Who are you?” you asked, studying her as her gaze flitted around the courtyard. You tried to decide if she was a threat, but there was something about her that defied any attempt you might make to define her. It left you stunned.

“I am a priestess,” she responded with a voice like water, “for the goddess Soz. And I am here to impart on you a wish.” The prospect sounded exciting, but you hesitated. Could you trust her? You still couldn’t say, but you leaned in. It wouldn’t hurt to stay for a little longer.

“What can I wish for?” You wanted to hear her speak again, hoping she would look at you again with those strange eyes. 

“You don’t wish for anything,” she replied, “I will give you what you need.” 

“What I need?” As far as you knew, you didn’t really need anything in the moment, except for maybe better shoes.

“What we all need,” she said, raising one eyebrow for emphasis, the white lines of face paint stretching, and for a moment, they looked like scars.

“I don’t understand.” Annoyance flared up in your mind cutting through the fog of her power; she was purposefully speaking in circles, trying to confuse you.

“I am offering you knowledge,” she said, “as a gift. No payment.”

“I think I’m alright,” you said, moving to leave the courtyard. Talk of payment made you nervous, even if she said it wasn’t necessary “I don’t believe in fortune-tellers.”

“But you believe in the force?” she asked, and you froze, every alarm system in your body screaming. How did she know? “I can sense that you do. Come sit with me, and I will tell you something. You have an important decision to make.” You had no idea what she was talking about, but now you had to know. If you left, it would certainly drive you insane.

“What decision?” you asked, and she reached for your hand. Her skin was cold against your own, so cold that you tried to pull away but her grip was strong as she stared straight ahead, as if she could see something in the distance that you could not.

“I cannot tell you that, but you will know soon enough.” Her response had you irritated all over again, and you tried to stand but she held you in place.

“Here is what I can tell you,” she said, looking at you once again, and you could see yourself reflected in both her eyes, “there are more choices than you might think. It is not always one or the other. Do not act rashly.” Her grip loosened on your fingers, left bloodless and buzzing from the strength of her hold, and you shook your hand out, trying to restore some of the feeling. When you looked up, she was already gone.

The alcove was empty once again, but there’s a strange feeling sitting with you now, like the place had been tainted—like it’s unsafe to stay there. You stood from the bench, hurrying out of the space and back into the crowded street, breathing a sigh of relief, but the fear still clung to you like a virus. The feeling dissipated a little when you see Hux approaching.

“Hello again,” you said, taking one of his arms in yours. Part of it was for the act, but you’re grateful that you were together again. You didn’t want to be alone anymore after such a strange encounter. “Any luck?” He smiled gently, shrugging.

“Couldn’t find it anywhere, but that’s probably for the best,” he said, leading you back the way you had come, “I think it’s time for us to be headed home.” You had hardly noticed before, but the sun was once again rising, glimmers of bright light streaking up through the night sky. It was time.


	18. Wanting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is much shorter than the others but . . . a lot happens? No warnings! Let me know how we’re all feeling!

The sun was just barely peeking over the horizon in Irriade, but General Hux could already feel the rays of heat beating against his back as he laid on his stomach on the edge of the building. The plan had gone well so far; it had been easy to climb out of the window of your hotel room, and from there to the roof. Buildings in Bellarian were tightly packed, and you were able to move from building to building, passing the wrapped blaster rifle between you while avoiding the possibility of being seen.

The information he had received from the Order had been spot on; Marcross Pawdy was right where he was supposed to be, hosting a late dinner party for his constituents in a large hotel room thirty yards from where you had stopped. Now Hux just had to wait for the right moment.

“I’m not seeing a clear shot,” you said, laying next to him, staring into the open window through your binoculars. The room was crowded—packed wall to wall with people—and Marcross was at the center of it all. Hux had barely seen a sliver of him in the hour that you’d been looking, but he wasn’t bothered. This, he knew, was a waiting game, and he could be _very_ patient.

You dropped the binoculars, wiping the sweat away from your forehead and reaching for the canteen resting between you before taking a long drink. Hux relied on feeling more than sight, his eyes trained on the party, listening to your movements as you shifted, a little restless.

“Do you want any?” you asked, shaking the canteen in his direction, but he refused with a slight nod of the head, keeping his eye on the sight of his rifle. He didn’t want to sacrifice a golden opportunity. You resumed your position, watching with him, waiting for the perfect moment. The silence was absolute, but comfortable. He was glad that you were here with him.

“Can I ask you a question, General?” you said in a whisper, glancing at him out of the corner of your eyes, looking a little shy. General Hux was already sweating from the heat, but those words sent him into a spiraling panic. He shifted his finger away from the trigger to avoid any accidental shots, but kept his eyes on the target.

"A question about the mission?"he asked, his mouth suddenly bone-dry. He should have taken that drink when you offered.

"It's actually a little more personal," you responded, and apparently Hux didn't respond quickly enough for your liking, because you continued, "you can say no, I won't be offended."

“What did you want to know?” he said, his curiosity overwhelming his fear. He needed to learn to trust you, even though trust for him was sparing, and now was a good time as any to start.

“What do you think you’d be doing, if you weren’t here? If you weren’t a member of the Order?” Hux didn't know what he had been expecting, but it certainly wasn't _that._ How was he supposed to respond?

“I always wanted to be a soldier.” The answer came without much thought, but the words felt wrong in his mouth. Ascension in the Order had never been a simple _want_. It had always been necessary—for protection, for his survival. He wanted to be a soldier in the same way he wanted to be able to breathe.

Apparently, you sensed the nuances in his answer, because you pressed him further, "always?"

“I didn’t have much of a choice.” It wasn't easy to admit, to you or to himself, but it's the truth, even if there is more to the statement. Being the general—being in charge, having subordinates who looked up to him, who turned to him to solve problems and make decisions—it made him feel powerful. And he was good at it. Why would he choose anything else?

“I don’t think I ever had a choice,” you said, unaware of Hux's internal stewing, “when I first got to the Academy, I felt so _brave_. I had finally escaped from Pryde, and I was doing something I was good at. Now I realize that I didn’t really escape from him at all. I’m only here because he let me be. I wonder what choices I’ve actually made. I wonder if I’ve decided anything for myself at all.”

It’s a heavy statement, and Hux forced himself to ponder it for a moment. Would he have chosen something else, if the option had been presented? It’s hard to say. So much of his life had been swallowed up in the rise of the Order, and he was a soldier whether he wanted to be or not. It was the way he was raised, programmed, really. His mouth curled into a sneer of frustration, the way it always did when he thought about his childhood, or lack thereof.

"What would you want, if you could choose?" Hux asked, waving away the desire for you to say that you wanted _him_ ; this was about much more than him and his petty crush. Still, if you had asked him the same question, would he not say you? He couldn't remember the last time he's wanted anything this much.

"I don't know," you said, shifting your weight from elbow to elbow, trying to get some blood flow in your arms. "I thought I wanted this promotion, but I know Snoke didn't give it to me because I earned it. When I first learned about the force sensitivity, I wanted to train, but now it feels like I'm playing right into Pryde's hands." Your tone has shifted, suddenly you're angry.

“I’m just tired of feeling like a pawn,” you say quietly but vehemently, with hard feeling behind it, “for my father, for Snoke, for the Order. I want to make a choice. I want to _want_ something, independent of others, and then take it.” Your determination was frightening, but it scared him more how much he finds himself agreeing with you. The idea is incredibly appealing. To have something, something he really wanted, apart from the Order and his title and all the responsibility that came with it.

You sighed, low and deep, having spoken your mind, signaling the end of the conversation. “I don’t think we’re going to get a good shot today, General,” you said, a little defeated, "maybe we should-”

You were cut off by the sound of the blaster, the kickback of the rifle hitting Hux in the shoulder hard and sending an ache through the side of his body, even though he had anticipated it. He kept the site steady, watching as the bolt made its impact, hitting Marcross directly between the eyes. The perfect opportunity had finally arrived, and he had been ready for it. The faint sound of screaming reached his ears, even from this distance. Only once he had heard the reactions of the guests at Pawdry’s party did he begin to disassemble his blaster, working quickly so that the both of you could make your escape.

“That was an impossible shot,” Hux broke from his work to look at you, and what he saw made him pause. You were watching him with an expression that could only be described as awe, your jaw slack, the binoculars falling from your hands.

"What?" Hux continued disassembling the rifle in order to avoid your eyes, the intensity of your stare making him blush.

"That shot. General, how did you even see an opening?" you picked up the binoculars again, trying to see through the windows, past the chaos in the room, trying to figure out how he had managed it. "I knew you were good, General, but I didn't know you were _that_ good."

Hux's hand fumbled as he unscrewed the last piece of the blaster, unsure how to react to your praise, choosing to ignore it instead, but he couldn't ignore the look you gave him when he met your eyes again. It reminded him of what you said about choices. About wanting. And where he might fit in with that.

Ren was already waiting for you when you disembarked, standing at the edge of the hangar with his arms crossed over his chest.

"He wants to speak with me," you said, turning to Hux who watched you through careful eyes, "I should probably go."

"You could stop this," he responded in a whisper, even though there was no point; you both knew that Ren was listening in, "you don’t have to train with him." It was nice to hear someone say it, even if you knew better. Nice to think that you could just quit, move on, do something you were good at, but quitting was not in your nature.

"I want to train, General, and I should speak to him."You looked down, hoping to avoid seeing the disappointment on his face. You _did_ still want to train, even if it was difficult, even when you felt unsuccessful. It wasn't just something you could run away from. "Thank you, though. It's nice to be reminded that I have a choice. And thank you for this," you reached out, brushing his arm so that he would look at you, see your sincerity, but when his eyes met yours, you had to look away.

You left the ship, moving to the place along the wall where Ren stood. He walked away without speaking, but you knew to follow. It was nerve-wracking being with him again, memories of your last conversation rooted in your brain. You reached out gently through the force, trying to see behind the mask, wondering just how angry he is at you, but there was nothing for you to pick up; he was blocking you out.

He led you to the training room, and your heart sank, your body already protesting the pain that was about to come. You moved into a fighting stance, waiting for one of the Knights to attack, bracing yourself for the first hit. None came. You searched the room, looking for the Knights, but you and Ren were alone.

You looked back to Ren and watched as he removed his helmet, setting it down on the ground along with his gloves. You didn't relax out of your stance, but watch him carefully, waiting.

"The Knights are attending to other matters," he said in response to the question you left unasked, "I wanted to speak with you in private." You dropped your stance, a little embarrassed and _very_ nervous. It hadn't gone very well the last time you had spoken. Would this conversation be any different?

"I'm sorry I left without telling you," you said, hoping to get it out of the way. Something about the way he was acting—avoiding your eyes, shifting from side to side, moving so slowly—made you restless.

"I don't want to talk about that," he stalked closer, eyes on the floor, and you watched him, your stomach rolling with unfamiliar emotion. He seemed nervous, and it made you nervous.

"What is this about, Ren?" You breathed through the words, trying to remain calm, but your mind returned to the moment in Bellarian, to the priestess and her strange eyes, strange words. A choice. Is this what she had meant? You’re not sure if you want to find out. 

He reached for you, one ungloved hand finding its way into yours, and your fingers shook in his, a well of emotion, thoughts, memories flooding over your skin at the contact. The words were spoken and unspoken, echoing through the room and in your mind, the low timbre of his voice cutting through the clutter in your head.

"I want you."


	19. Ultimatum

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, better late than never, right? I know it’s super annoying, but I’ve finally given up on writing this in past-tense. I write all my requests in present-tense, and it feels silly to keep writing in past-tense when it bugs me so much. I may at some point go back and fix the other chapters, but who knows when I’ll have the motivation for that 😬  
> Warnings for this chapter: angst 😭 (let me know what you guys think 🥺)

“This is getting ridiculous, General. Either you tell her the truth or I will,” Phasma says as they walk through the halls. After you had left the hangar, General Hux went to find Captain Phasma, which had been fairly simple; she was already on her way to meet him. Now though, after he had told her about the mission, he’s starting to regret that decision.

“You can’t be serious,” he replies, but he knows better than to think that the captain would lie. To emphasize her point, Phasma grabs him by the shoulder, turning him to face her in the empty corridor. 

“You have to get it over with,” she says, giving him a slight shake, “you can’t keep pretending that you don’t feel anything for her. It’s going to end one way or another, wouldn’t you rather have the chance to speak your mind?” Hux thinks about it, and despite his doubts, he finds himself agreeing with her. He has to tell you the truth.

“The next time I see her,” Hux agrees, the nerves already fluttering in his stomach. He’d need to make a plan, figure out what he wanted to say.

“Don’t delay it, General,” Phasma responds, knowing that if Hux gave himself time to plan, he’d find an excuse to avoid it, “just go find her.”

“She’s with Ren,” Hux can’t tell if he’s breathing or not, grasping at straws to avoid seeking you out. Was he really going to do this? Without planning or preparation? It felt like too great a risk, but you were worth risking everything.

“It’ll make it that much easier, since you always know where he is.” Phasma’s words hit him in the chest, and he bows his head in defeat. Hux couldn’t argue anymore. He knows what he has to do.

Ren can feel it; you’re not breathing—frozen at the sound of his words—but he presses on anyways, determined. He needs you to know, and he needs an answer. Reaching out, he scopes through your emotions, the doubt in his mind forcing him to question whether or not he should continue. You’re apprehensive, the panicked buzzing coming through loud and clear, but there’s desire there too, curiosity, and that’s what he chooses to focus on.

“Oh,” you whisper the word, shaking a little, staring up at him wide-eyed, and he moves ever closer, resting his hand on your waist, relishing the way it makes him feel _alive_ , the way his fingers dig into the soft skin beneath the fabric of your dress. The way you move into him when he pulls you closer. The way you let him press his lips to yours. The way you taste.

 _Fuck_ , he’d been waiting so long for this, not just since he met you, but long before, maybe for his whole life. He’s not alone anymore. He doesn’t have to imagine what it would feel like to press his body into yours, to taste you, to brush a hand through your hair. He knows. 

Ren doesn’t notice the door sliding open, doesn’t hear the strangled cry, doesn’t recognize the interruption at all until you pull away from him, the absence of your body the only thing he can think about in the moment. He’s barely registered the movement before the blinding pain echoes through his eye socket, and he stumbles backwards, clutching at his face.

“General, what- ” you’re cut off in the middle of your question—Ren has recovered from the punch and the scene before him is infuriating: General Hux, with fire in his eyes, staring him down, blocking his path back to you, _guarding_ you, like you needed protecting. You try to get around him—hoping to get between him and Ren, hoping to stop this—but you’re too late. One second the general is by you, and the next he’s gone, slammed backwards into the wall, and Ren holds him there. He approaches, his saber ignited, the opportunity to eliminate the general too good to pass up. Fucking _finally_.

“Ren, stop, please,” you beg, pulling at him, trying to stop him, but he brushes you aside. He had finally gotten what he wanted, and the general had ruined it. He stalks closer, savoring the fear rolling off of the man as he struggles against Ren’s grasp. He’s going to end this. Blade raised, he makes his final approach, before swinging his saber down with all the rage, all the hatred he’s capable of feeling.

“ _No_ ,” the words rip through the air, breaking his concentration, and his blade comes to a halt, only inches from Hux’s face.

“Ren, stop. Please, don’t do this.” You’re on your knees, your spine bowed from the effort, one hand extended, holding his blade in place. Ren is stunned by the action, almost surprised enough to forget his anger. You’d never managed something like this before, never used the force against him in any capacity; it’s a miracle you’re still conscious.

“I’m doing this for you!” he shouts, reducing the pressure on his blade, trying to give you some relief, but you press on even stronger. How could you not see that this was necessary? That it had to be done.

“This isn’t what I want, Ren,” you gasp, “you can’t kill him.” You fight back more firmly against the weight of his blade, and it inches closer to his own face, shaking in his hand.

“He’ll try to keep you from me, try to keep us apart.” Ren isn’t going to fight you—not physically—but he has to make you see. Has to make you _understand._ You belong with him, not with the general.

“Please, go.” He can’t believe it. You’re crying, tears streaming down your face at the thought of Hux’s death. Any of the desire he had sensed earlier is gone, not replaced with hate, or with anger. No, with something worse. It’s empathy, _concern_ , for Hux. Ren pushes against your hold on him, one final attempt to finish what he had started, and you fight with more urgency, the power behind it causing him to stumble, thrown back a few steps to escape it.

“Please, just go,” you cried, relentlessly pushing him away, and he’s forced to release Hux, his concentration shattered by the sound of you so utterly broken. He stumbles to the door, desperate to escape the crush of your power. The hallway swims in his vision, he’s dizzy, disoriented, not just from the feeling of the force you had used on him, but the determination you had felt, the _terror._ It’s too much; he’s feeling too much, and he can’t let it break him. So he’ll have to break something else. 

The pressure is released from Hux’s chest, and he sucks in a deep breath. Ren really would have killed him. You had saved his life. This is not what he had expected at all. You’re on your hands and knees, retching from the exertion before you sit back, running a hand over your forehead which is coated in a thin sheen of sweat. He’s not sure how to proceed.

“You’re bleeding,” you finally speak, and Hux reaches back, feeling the slick stream of blood coating his neck on his fingers. His head aches painfully, a steady pulse that radiates through his skull, flashing dully behind his eyes. It almost knocks him off his feet, and he steadies himself against the wall.

“You should go to the medbay,” you say, moving to stand, swaying slightly once you’re upright. It’s clear that fighting Ren had taken a toll on you, and despite his own weakness, Hux reaches out to steady you.

“I can take care of it, there’s a medpac in my quarters,” he says, swaying back again as a wave of nausea rushes over him, keeping him in place, and he fights against it. The walk to his rooms would be long and difficult if that continued.

“There’s one here, on the wall. I’ll patch you up.” Hux almost leaves. Almost. But even now, after everything he had just seen, he still hopes that he might have a chance.

It’s not exactly comfortable, sitting across from you on the training room floor, but Hux feels strangely peaceful as you examine his wound, your touch delicate as you clean away the blood. It’s quiet, just the two of you, and the silence makes him feel braver. Or maybe it’s just the head injury.

“Are you alright?” he asks, and you nod back, avoiding his gaze. Hux doesn’t need the force to know that you’re lying. It’s in the way your hand shakes against him as you bandaged the wound, the feathering of your breath, like you’re trying not to cry. He’s reading you in a way that he had become intimately adjusted to; that’s how well he knows you.

“I had no idea,” you say quietly,“ that he felt that way. I guess it just surprised me.” Hux hesitates, waiting for you to reveal any more of your feelings. Like if you feel the same way.

“Do you return them? His feelings?” He’s forced to ask, instead. Your eyes flash to him, your brow furrowed—angry, almost—and Hux checks his wrist, worried for a moment that the bracelet might be gone, that you’ve discovered his intentions through the force. He’s mistaken, he finds—the cool metal strand still firmly secured around his wrist. Apparently he’s not the only one who can read someone.

“General,” you breathe, maybe to silence him, but he’s still feeling emboldened, finally ready to speak his mind, and he takes your wrist in his hands, holding your open palm face up in his lap, traces of his blood still on your fingers. When his eyes meet yours again, your breathing stops.

“I need you to know,” he starts, and you don’t breathe, don’t move, do n’t blink under his gaze, “the way that I feel about you.”

“Please, General, don’t.” Tears prick at the corner of your eyes, the weight of his confession, of everything that’s happened forcing your gaze to the floor, before you whisper, “this isn’t a choice I want to make.”

Hux stops, repeats your words in his mind. A choice. He had always tried to be pragmatic, tried to be _rational,_ to not let his hopes and his wishes get the better of him. But he had never truly thought that you would choose Ren over himself. Believed that you might deny him, surely, but never thought that you would deny him for the other man. The words are out of his mouth before he’s processed them, “you can’t mean that.”

“I didn’t know! I never thought that I’d have to decide-” he’s not hearing your words, not really, still stunned by your reaction. Still stunned that you don’t know if you want him or Ren.

“It seems that you’re choosing him,” he says, and he means it. He had caught you, after all, in his arms, letting him hold you without a fight, without any argument. And he had ignored it like a fool.

“That’s not fair, _he_ kissed _me_ ,” you’re crying again, gentle tears that drip down your cheeks. It’s not the first time, but it is certainly the strongest—Hux wishes for the force, for the ability to peer into your mind and know what you’re feeling because words don’t seem to be working and he knows that he’s angrier with you than he has any right to be.

“You didn’t seem too eager to pull away- "It’s an unfair accusation, he knows it, but his anger has made him irrational.

"Then maybe you should have tried it yourself.” The words stop him cold, and you as well, both of you uncomfortably aware of just how close you are to each other, how easy it would be. When you speak again, your voice is soft, "maybe I wouldn’t have stopped you either.”

You’re leaning into him, so _very_ slowly, and Hux can’t breathe. He’s waited for this, dreamed of it, prayed and hoped and wished for this exact moment for so long, and now he’s finally reached it.

“No,"he breathes the word against your lips, stopping you on instinct, against his better judgement. He may never get this chance again, but he can’t do it, not now- "not like this.”

You blink once, twice, then rapidly, your eyelashes gathering the forming tears in perfect little spheres. It hurts to see you this way, hurts to know that he could have had you, or at least a part of you, and that he’s turned you away. He has no right to it—the feeling of your skin warm against his hand—but he reaches for you anyways, brushing his thumb over the swell of your cheek.

“I want you,” he says, and he hopes you can feel it, his sincerity, how _badly_ he means it, “but I need you to want me in return. And I hope-” he swallows, still feeling the sting of regret, “that you will kiss me, one day. And that I’ll know what it means when you do.”

You look away from him, unable to respond, the hurt and fear and anger from earlier at war on your face. Hux stands, waits for only a moment, and then turns to leave, unable to shake the feeling that he’s just made the greatest mistake of his life.

The silence is oppressive, the pain of the hard floor against your legs becoming unbearable, but you stay on the ground, playing through the events you had just experienced over and over again in your mind. You can’t remember a time that you had ever felt more alone.


	20. Inspection

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haha, I finally did it! Thank you all so much for your support while I figured out where this story goes, and where it ends. I received so many kind messages and so much love. Warnings for this chapter: angst, canon-typical violence (force choking), discussions of abuse, kind of?

You wake up with bleary eyes and a pounding headache. For a moment, you’re able to forget why you feel so terrible—not just physically, but deep in your bones—and you sit and wait until it hits you.

You had cried late into the night—cried until you couldn’t anymore—but as soon as the memories resurface, so do the tears, stinging your tired eyes. It’s only just started, but you’re sure that it will take a miracle for you to get through the day.

You force yourself out of bed and to the sink, drinking straight from the faucet, and then you down a rehydration canister as well, for good measure. (Technically, they’re for medical use only but they’re a godsend for hangovers.) The taste is questionable, and you’ll have to piss like a bantha later, but it’ll be worth it if it gets you feeling like a human again.

You rinse off in the sani-steam and put on your uniform, already feeling better. The positivity is immediately lost when you see Ren’s helmet sitting on your desk. The memory is blurry even now that you’re fully awake—stumbling through the halls on the way back to your room, the weight of his helmet sitting heavy in your hands, and the words running through your head on repeat just in case you ran in to him: _you left this, you left this, you left this._

What would you say to him now? You obviously have to talk about it, but … how? There’s a slight unease settling in your stomach as you think about what had happened between you and Ren. Had you liked it, the kiss? It’s hard to separate the event from everything that had happened after, which you definitely had _not_ liked.

After a moment of debating, you decide to take the helmet with you, tucking it under your arm and hoping that the bulk of your greatcoat would hide it from view.

You walk in the direction of the bridge, doing your best to appear normal as you try to sense Ren’s location through the force. It’s not something you’ve tried before, and not something that he had tried to teach you yet. It’s more difficult than you anticipated; everytime you open yourself up to the force you become overwhelmed by the feeling of all the lives on the ship, and you’re unable to distinguish between any of them, let alone pick out Ren’s unique signature from the group.

You pull yourself from your search just before you collide with someone—a harried-looking maintenance tech busy staring at her data pad. She doesn’t notice you, and you catch her by the shoulder just before impact, stopping her momentum. She lets out a small _oof_ , the data pad threatening to tumble from her hands before she gets a hold of it.

“I’m so sorry, Lieutenant General,” she says, saluting once she recognises you, “I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

“It’s alright, I wasn’t either.” You give her a small smile, hoping to put her at ease, to show that you’re not angry, but it doesn’t take long for you to realize that you’re not what’s making her nervous.

“Busy day today?” you ask, scoping out the surface of her thoughts searching for the origin of her woes. _Please don’t let it be Ren_ , please _don’t let it be Ren_ … 

“Uh, yeah, actually,” she replies with a little trepidation, “we’ve got like, seven different emergency repairs and they’re all- ”

“ Code 4120?” you finish for her, and she looks back, surprised. You don’t know all the repair codes, but that one you’ve memorized. _Lightsaber damage_.

“Uh, yeah, actually,” she replies with a nervous laugh, “I don’t know what got into the commander but I hope it doesn’t happen again.” She blushes—embarrassed to talk this way about a commanding officer in front of another commanding officer—and walks off quickly, leaving you to dwell on the information alone.

You continue on your way to the bridge, but decide to stop at the officer’s dining area first, hoping to grab a cup of caff before officially starting your shift. As soon as you enter, though, you’d like to walk back out, because the first thing you see is Ren’s shiny new black eye, uncovered and set in a fiery glare towards Hux’s normal seat, which is currently unoccupied. There are others in the dining area, though, full of sick curiosity as they shovel their rations into their mouths, glancing at Ren every few seconds, desperate to know what happened. You have to be careful. These next few moments could be explosive if you weren’t.

“Your helmet, sir. You left it in the training room after our sparring session,” you say to Ren, dropping it on the table in front of him. Everyone perks up when you address him, hoping to be clued in on the drama, but Ren doesn’t even look at you, which suits your plans just fine, for now.

You lean in just a little closer, trying to sell the lie as you whisper, loud enough for the people closest to hear, “and I’m very sorry about your eye, sir.”

“Wait, you gave him that?” Someone takes the bait, and you hold in your sigh of relief as you turn to address them. It’s Kaimill Wate, the one you picked to be your replacement for Phasma after your promotion.

“Yes, Lieutenant. It was an accident, my hand slipped.” Ren continues to ignore you, but the rest of the officers buy into your lie anyway. Thank the gods for that.

The only one who still seems suspicious is Mitaka, and his eyes follow you around the room, his mouth formed into a slight frown. You grab your caff and flash him a look, hoping he’ll get the message, and he does, standing from his seat immediately and tossing out the rest of his breakfast before following you out the door.

“What is going on with you?” he asks, as soon you’re alone, his whispers tight and angry as he checks to make sure that no one around you is listening.

“Oh, _fuck_ ,” the words fall out completely unbidden, and the panic slips back in to its home in your chest. Would you have to feel this way forever? Constantly on edge, waiting for this to explode into the light and ruin you? It’s no way to live; you don’t think you can bear it.

“Hey,” Mitaka speaks again, pulling you to a stop, “tell me what’s going on.” His voice and touch are gentle and it breaks your heart all over again that you’ve spent so much time lying to someone who cares for you so deeply. 

“I will tell you what’s going on, Doe, I promise. Just not right now.” He seems distrustful, and you don’t blame him after everything that’s happened, but he nods in agreement, and you feel a little more at ease.

“Are you ready for the inspection?” Mitaka asks to change the subject, and your eyes widen with surprise.

“What inspection?” Normally the Directorate gave ships a week’s notice before any official visits. Had you somehow managed to forget in all the chaos?

“The general sent out an alert early this morning. It was a surprise for him, too, I think,” Mitaka responds, just as you enter the bridge. Hux is there at the view ports, looking no worse for wear, despite his injury.There’s a maintenance worker with him, probably updating him on the progress for the repairs, but it doesn’t seem like he’s truly listening, and after a moment, they walk off.

“Who is performing the inspection?” you whisper to Mitaka, hoping to avoid the general’s attention for as long as possible. You’re still not sure what you want from him. And you don’t know how he’ll react when he sees you again, or if he’ll react at all.

“Hello, Lieutenant General,” the voice behind you answers your question before Mitaka can, and when you recognise it, you can feel the cup of caff begin to slip from your fingers. No, not _him_. Not here.

“General Pryde, welcome to the Finalizer,” Hux has arrived, and Mitaka takes his place on the bridge, leaving you alone with the two men as they greet each other with a slight nod and hate in their eyes. You have to hope that you’re still asleep, because this is a nightmare. You try to wake up; nothing changes.

“Shall we begin?” Pryde asks, and both of them turn to look at you. Even with some kind of miracle, you’re not sure you’ll survive this.

You try your best to remain focused, but there’s little hope for that when you think you sense Ren around every corner, when you’re simultaneously trying to catch the general’s eye and stay invisible to him, when you have to watch every word that exits your lips to make sure that Pryde will not sense even the slightest trace of the deep and abiding hatred lurking just below the surface of your skin.

No, You’re not focused, not in the slightest, but you know the general would rather chew on mouthfuls of glass than look like a fool in front of a superior officer and he makes up for your lack, leading you and Pryde from place to place, careful to avoid the parts of the ship that Ren had left in disrepair. The whole thing goes fairly well, as far as you can tell, and you breathe a sigh of relief once you return to the bridge, finally finished with your looping tour.

“Thank you for your time, General,” Pryde says dismissively, and you tune back into the conversation, nervous about the change you can sense in his mood. He turns his attention to you, and although he has the same stony demeanor as always, you know what he’s feeling, and you know what he’s about to say, “I’d like to speak to your lieutenant for a moment. Could you spare her?”

General Hux looks at you for the first time since the last time he looked at you, since you watched him walk away. You’re afraid to look back, but you do anyway, ready to see the loathing you deserve reflected back at you, but his gaze is absent of any emotion at all, and somehow that’s worse.

 _He’s waiting for permission_. It takes you a moment to realize that this extended eye contact is not some kind of a punishment that the general is hoping to inflict, but an offer of protection from Pryde. He’s willing to say no for you.

You give him the slightest nod you can manage, and only then does he speak, “of course, Allegiant General.” He walks off without a word, and you watch him go without a chance to thank him.

Pryde clears his throat, and you follow him from the bridge, down to the hangar where his ship waits for him. Something about the moment makes you feel like a little girl again, like he’s about to yell at you for running through the house or breaking a lamp, and the same sickness comes right back, the same fear, the same sight that you saw so often in the plane between waking and sleeping: Pryde, blaster in hand, pointing the barrel of the weapon directly between your eyes.

It’s a ridiculous notion, a silly thought. You’re not a child anymore. You’re a soldier. A force-wielder. You can defend yourself. But could you _defend_ yourself?

As soon as Pryde finds an empty corridor, he acts, pulling you into some abandoned meeting room. You breathe deeply through your nose and think calm thoughts. He just wants to talk to you in private.

“Well?” He’s already angry, which means you’ll have to be careful, have to hit every mark and deliver each line with perfect inflection to keep his anger at bay. Even without an audience he still demands the doting daughter routine. Lucky for you though, it’s a role you have had a lifetime to perfect.

“It’s good to see you, father,” you say, pressing a soft kiss to his papery check, trying very hard to keep thoughts of your last kiss out of your mind. This was a critical performance; you could not afford any distractions.

He relaxes only slightly, but you refuse to let your guard down until you know what he wants. It seems that he is ready to join in on your act, putting on the guise of a concerned father. He must want something.

“You seem tired,” he begins—less convincing in his role than you manage to be, which is understandable. He’s under less pressure. “Is everything alright?”

“I didn’t get much sleep,” you offer, “ I’ve been kept busy since my promotion.” He looks skeptical, but you’re not sure why, especially since it’s the truth, or part of it, at least.

“Is General Hux giving you too much of his work? I would recommend you for a transfer to the _Supremacy_. I’m sure that General-”

‘I don’t want to leave the _Finalizer_ , father,“ you interrupt, and the look in his eyes makes the regret appear instantaneously. "It’s just one night without sleep; it won’t kill me. I appreciate the concern.”

“Your mother sends her regards.” He seems mollified enough, and then he changes the subject, which doesn’t surprise you in the slightest. He doesn’t care how you are. He’s just searching for weakness.

“Tell her I miss her,” you respond on instinct, and then after a beat, “and you, as well, father.” Gods, You want this conversation to be over. You’re tired of walking on glass and hoping it won’t splinter beneath your feet.

“We’ve been talking recently,” he says, falsely casual, “she thinks you should come home. We both do.” It’s off-script, and the surprise throws you out of your act and directly into a spiraling panic.

“What?” You genuinely think you might faint. Even after the news you received last night, this somehow manages to come as a bigger shock. Maybe you should have seen it coming. You thought you were safe from him here, but maybe that was all an act too.

“We don’t feel comfortable having you work in such a dangerous environment, and after the assassination attempt, can you blame us? Your mother was a wreck for days after the event, hardly sleeping, unable to eat. I thought the stress would kill her.”

He’s trying to guilt you into giving in, and you might have been more receptive of it, if it had been anyone else. You wish the stress would kill her. Wish it would kill them both.

“Please, come home. We’ll take care of you again. We’ll keep you safe.” He rests a hand on your shoulder, the loving father, the one you always deserved, and you hate yourself for it, but you almost buy into it. Because you _want_ to believe, damn you, want to believe that someone else would care for you. You want to unload, give away the reins and let someone else make the tough decisions again. Because you’re so damn tired. Because you’re not strong enough to do it yourself.

Hot, fat tears roll down your cheeks and you bow your head in defeat. The woman, the fortune teller from Irrade, she was right. It’s not always an or the other. You can choose not to decide. You can give up.

Pryde lifts your gaze to his, wipes the tears from your cheeks, pulls you in for an embrace. You don’t find home in his arms, but maybe someday you could.

“You’ll be safe now,” he whispers and you will yourself to believe it, “I’ll take care of everything.” It’s not until he runs a hand through your hair, an approximation of a soothing gesture, that you notice it. For some reason, that’s the contact that tunes you into his thoughts—thoughts that he must have had the whole time but kept hidden, and you were too distracted to see them.

“You know,” you say, pulling yourself from his grasp, “about my training. About Ren.” How could you have been so blind? He didn’t want to save you, he wanted to save himself. Every part of you hums with rage, and you let the anger flow through you, too tired to stop it.

“You lied to me!” You’ve never yelled at him before, but the words burst out of you, “you don’t want me back, you want me away from him!”

“Now, wait, see here-” he blanches, trying to cover his tracks, but you don’t need to see any more to know that it’s a kindness for you to _only_ block his windpipe. You’re being merciful. You should snap his neck. Force choking is another skill Ren never taught you, but this one is easy and so very satisfying as you bring Pryde to his knees.

“No, general, you see here,” you say, getting in his face, looming over him, “I’m not going anywhere. And you are going to stay. the. fuck. away from me. And then maybe I’ll let you live.” You storm out of the room, not bothering to glance back, not caring to check if you had killed him or not.

You march through the corridors with no destination in mind, desperate to escape the rage that wells up inside, and you finally understand Ren. It would feel good to destroy something right now, but walking would have to suffice.

You end up on the bridge without realizing it. Still, you’ve never felt more in control. The anger has left your body and you find strength has replaced it. You’re not going to run from this. You’re going to make a choice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, that’s it for this chapter! I’m not going to give an ETA for the next one, because I think I’m going to be doing something a little different. I also will probably put requests on hold for the moment until I finish this story up; I’m assuming it will only be three or four more chapters. Let me know what you think!


	21. Subterfuge

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember how I said this series was on hiatus? Turns out I’m a huge liar! This came to me a couple days ago and I have no self-control so here it is; hope you enjoy to everybody still following! Also, what the fuck, thank you guys so much for 10,000 hits (almost 11,000 now oops!) You're all amazing, you're all wonderful! I love you!!
> 
> Chapter Warnings: Hopefully without giving away too much, there’s some drugging and some kidnapping in this chapter! Read with caution!

The rumors going around the _Finalizer_ said that the Annual First Order Anniversary Gala would be a party unlike any other, and standing here in the middle of it all, you're sure they must be right. _Everyone_ is here: all of the _Finalizer's_ officers, plus the crews of all the other ships—some of them people you hadn't seen since the Academy—the entirety of the Directorate, and a handful of celebrities, all sympathetic to the cause: politicians, holo-stars, stage performers. It's a massive, swirling body of people, an electric meeting of heartbeats and minds under the glittering lights.

And certainly many of them are eager to meet you. Your reputation precedes you, it seems, _the young, brave Lieutenant General_ —you're the talk of the party, your name on the lips of many of the guests. The hushed voices follow you like trails of ribbon flittering on a breeze; they talk of the assassination attempt, the _mysterious_ death of Antibree Soar.

The conversations always grow quieter, here, delicate whispers laced with smiles. _I heard_ , they say, _that she's become_ involved _with the force user, Kylo Ren._ The rest of the party will gasp, the speaker's lips turning upwards with triumph, with the power that comes from sharing a secret. The smile falls though when another guest interrupts. _No, no, you've heard all wrong,_ they say, _it's the general who's caught her attention. I heard . . ._

And so it goes. You have to admit you look the part—mysterious, powerful. The gown you're wearing is unlike any other: the silver material flows over you like a waterfall, shimmering in the light. The cut of the neck is low, daringly so, the skin of your chest exposed all the way to the waist of the gown, and the cape, secured around the neck, falls over your shoulders, fluttering in your wake as the crowd parts around you. You've never looked more beautiful. And you've never felt more miserable.

You bid farewell to your latest dance partner whose name you've already forgotten, making your way to the edge of the crowd again. You had hoped that the determination in your gait would discourage any more invitations to dance, but you still have to tug your arm away from a few of the more persistent men, telling them that you'd love to join them, in just a moment. You needed to get some air. _Alone._

It’s quiet on the balcony, private, and there’s no other guests taking advantage of the darkness that would be afforded to them out here. The night air is cool on your flushed skin, the twilight a blessing to your eyes after the bright and colorful chaos of the ballroom. It's quiet out here on the balcony, and when you look up, you can see the tiny pinpricks of stars flooding the night sky.

You had talked to the general, the night after Pryde's visit. It had been a stilted conversation, full of long, awkward pauses, your eyes traveling the walls of his quarters, your throat stinging as you tried to hold back the tears that kept threatening to spill onto your cheeks. You don't remember everything that was said, and it's probably for the best. You had left in tears.

As bad as that was, your conversation with Ren had been worse. He hadn't even taken off his helmet, standing there with his arms across his chest, solid as a wall and just as responsive.

You hadn't been lying before. You wanted to make a choice, but _wanting_ and _doing_ , you had quickly come to realize, were two very different things. And despite everything that had happened, you were still unsure.

You weighed the options in your mind again, as you had done a thousand times. The General. Ren. And just as before, a sick feeling of dread poured into your stomach. It was no use, and now you'd be lucky if either of them would have you. Once again you had lost your chance to do something that actually _mattered_.

The door to the balcony opens behind you, but you don't turn around just yet, still wishing to be alone. The sound of the music swells and then lulls as the door is once again closed, the soft footsteps of the new visitor approaching.

"I'm alright, Doe," you say, eyes still straight ahead. Mitaka had been very understanding after you told him about what had happened. He must have seen your flight from the ballroom and come to check on you, but you couldn't look at him now. Seeing his face full of concern would certainly make you cry, and you were already blinking faster to quell the tears.

It's quiet still, and you're about to turn to face him when the warm arm wraps around your waist, and for a fleeting moment, you think it might be Ren, or Hux before there's a hand covering your mouth, and you don't have time to fight before you're sinking, darkness clouding the corners of your vision and a voice in your ear, low and mean, saying," guess again." You recognize the voice now, but it's too late. The sky fills your vision, melting into a swirling mess of stars, and then everything fades to darkness.

* * *

Based on the dull headache growing between his eyes, and the way the words of the conversation he was pretending to listen to were slurring together with the blush of wine, Hux estimated that this ridiculous party had been going on for about an eternity. Although it certainly didn't help that he had wanted to leave before the party had even begun.

He had shown remarkable self-restraint, hardly looking at you all evening—or at least hardly looking at you compared to a normal amount. He'd see how long he could stretch that self-restraint once he was alone, how long it would take before he was driving himself mad thinking of you again, how long before he was waking with a pounding headache, an acrid taste in his mouth, and the distinct feeling of guilt in his stomach that came from wanting you so deeply and refusing you so harshly at the same time.

Hux takes a long sip from his glass, using the action as an excuse to close his eyes for a moment against the grating lights. He sees your face, as he expected, maybe hoped for. It's still there, playing on the back of his eyelids—the way you leaned into him, your words echoing over in his mind. _Maybe I wouldn't have stopped you either_. Suddenly the cool feeling of the glass against his lips is all wrong, too hard and unyielding. He pulls the glass away.

There's a new face in his line of sight when he opens his eyes, and it's not one he had expected. As if Hux’s evening could somehow get worse.

"The lieutenant," Ren says, in the closest approximation to a whisper he can manage with the ridiculous mask, "she's missing."

* * *

Ren watches the general carefully, waiting to see if the mask of indifference will slip. Hux immediately guards himself the moment he sees Ren, but he can't hide his surprise quickly enough. Ren sees it. And for a moment, he lets himself be glad.

"What should that matter to me, Ren?" Hux turns away from Ren rather stiffly, staring towards the dance floor with a falsely blank gaze. He’s looking for you. Ren knows he won't find you there.

"I thought you might know where she'd gone." Ren almost wants to laugh. This stilted, whispered conversation is a far cry from the one they had only a few days ago in the training room. It's driving him insane that he knows so little about what happened after.

The rage had left him feeling emptier after the _confrontation_ in the training room, as it often did, but there was nothing to fill the aching cavern in his chest once it was gone. He was well and truly hollowed by your rejection. Left with nothing. And so with nothing left, he had simply watched, waiting to see if his fears had come to fruition.

But nothing had happened between you and the general, as far as he could tell. There was no weight to your interactions with him. He couldn't sense a spark, no smoldering glances or subtle smiles. He could discern the truth if he really wanted to, of course—he would have no trouble pulling the information from your mind or the general's. But he couldn't. Maybe he didn't want to know.

"I don't know where she is." Hux is as close to snapping as he could get in public, leaning in for a moment to utter a harsh whisper, before he remembers himself, "she probably stepped outside for a moment."

Hux excuses himself from the conversation, not that anyone notices his departure, but Ren refuses to be brushed aside so easily. Hux could try to fool him, to convince him that he didn't care, but Ren knows better. And more importantly, he knows something isn’t right. He can sense that you’re in danger—he feels it in his very core.

"I already checked," Ren says, loud enough to disturb the other guests, and Hux pauses, turning to face him again. There's conflict in his eyes, his mouth set in a hard line of frustration, but he doesn't walk away.

"I've looked for her everywhere. She's gone," Ren steps closer, and Hux turns to face him again. There's hatred, pure and arrant and clear in every facet of Hux’s face, and for Ren the feeling is mutual. But he hasn't even gotten to the worst part yet.

"There's something else," Ren lowers his voice again, and Hux leans closer to hear, "Pryde, he's gone too."

* * *

You open your eyes to the darkness, conscious, but not awake—like your mind is submerged in deep and turbulent waters—and you wait for the feeling to pass. The relief doesn’t come, and your stomach rolls, and for a moment you think you might die here, alone in this hellish darkness. Or maybe you’re already dead. It’s hard to tell without a frame of reference. You’re lost without your senses—no sight, no feeling or movement in any of your limbs, and, maybe the most frightening of them all, no connection to the force. You reach out for it, stretching yourself to the limits, and your stomach gives another heave, threatening to spill its contents. The tears that track down your cheeks in response to the feeling burn as they go, and you let out a single, pitiful sob.

You hear something, just barely, at the same time the little animal noises first start to make their way out of your mouth, and you clamp your lips tighter, hoping to muffle them enough so that you can hear. There’s someone else here with you . . . wherever you are. They shift again, and the soft rustle of their clothing seems deafening in this small space. 

“Please . . .” you try to form the word, but your lips feel enormous and unwieldy, and you’re still trying to choke back the sobs. “Please, let me go.”

They get to their feet, stepping around into your line of sight. Your vision is blurry, and you squint, trying to get a better look.

“You’re awake,” there’s the voice again, you recognize it instantly, and with the recognition comes a new wave of fear, “that’s a pity. The dosage I used could have killed you. Such a shame _he_ wants you alive.”

He peers closer, and your vision finally focuses in the low light. The edges of his face still blur, but you can see his eyes with poignant clarity, harsh and full of cutting animosity.

“Allecul,” his name comes out jumbled, but he recognizes the sound all the same, “you’re the spy, working with . . . with Pryde.” He tenses in response, bringing his hand to your face again, and you feel another rush of darkness coming swiftly towards you. There’s no use fighting, but you struggle against it regardless, your mind desperately thrashing, urgently working to keep a hold of the sliver of consciousness you’ve gained. It’s no use. You sink back into the restless darkness. And you stay there.


End file.
